A Cat Named Wesker
by the crazy hobos of doom
Summary: When the S.T.A.R.S. decide to adopt a cat as a team mascot and name it after their captain, Wesker isn't very happy, especially when he's forced to bring the animal along on their mission to stop the terrorists in the Raccoon City Mall.
1. The Inconspicous Box

Author's note: Recently, I was looking through Resident Evil fanfiction in excitement over the upcoming Resident Evil 5, and guess what I found? A story I wrote almost 5 years ago! So as curious as I am, I clicked it. And I read it. And I was very tempted to gouge my eyes and throw my computer out the window. I have great compassion for the people who actual read such a horrible, terrible thing. But naturally, I felt the urge to rewrite it in actual legible English. So here I present you: A Cat Named Wesker, REwrite! (insert sarcastic laugh).

The story should be mainly the same, everything is much more detailed and (I'm proud to say) much more understandable. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it this time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil.

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 1: The Inconspicuous Box

Jill Valentine knew that Frost was up to no good the moment he strolled into the police department, whistling (rather badly) Beethoven's Ode to Joy and hefting a large, inconspicuous card board box.

Inconspicuous, of course, only to the casual bystander.

However, Jill was no casual bystander. She could smell trouble oozing off of Joseph that Monday morning, and was determined to put an end to it before anyone could get truly hurt. There was no telling what Joseph could do with his childish mind; just last Tuesday he had found it amusing to slyly dose the milk in the coffee machine with a generous helping of laxative. The department was forced to call an ambulance in order to rush a critical conditioned Barry to the hospital, accompanied by two medics who somehow found it hilarious that the _police_ department a block down had to call for an ambulance. Why Joseph had never been fired for his jokes eluded the female officer, and she supposed it had to do with some hidden talent buried in that idiotic brain of his. Just the thought of what might be in the box made Jill cringe, and she hastily got up out of her seat and followed Joseph before he managed to blow the whole building into smithereens.

He seemed to be handling the box with an uncharacteristic care, and almost fell over when he glanced up and spotted a fuming Jill Valentine, arms akimbo, blocking his path.

"Joseph...," she growled in a tone usually reserved for small children and mischievous dogs. "What's in the box?"

"Wh…what? What are you talking about? What box?"

"The box in your hands, you dimwit. What's in it?"

"Erh….nothing." He attempted to sidestep the woman, but was awarded with a shove and a harsh glare.

"Joseph, open the box. NOW."

"C'mon Jill, I swear there's nothin' in it. I'm not doing anything wrong!"

"Sorry, but I find that _really_ hard to believe," Jill responded sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "If you're not going to open it, I'll do it for you. Gimme that box."

"Trust me Jill, I'm tellin' you-"

He was abruptly cut off as Jill snatched the box from his hands and ripped open the cover. Silence settled around the two officers as she stared inside, her eyes widening and her mouth open. And just when Joseph couldn't bear the silence any longer, she let out a shrill, girlish shriek.

* * *

On the other end of the hallway, STARS captain Albert Wesker was busy reading a heavily encrypted code sent to him by Umbrella. It was a frustrating, mind-numbing job decoding the message and sometimes he wondered why the hell Umbrella didn't just _call_ him about their new, world-domination plans. Not like any of them were different. Staring holes into the paper in front of him, he was just about to finish the last sentence when….

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeh!"

Wesker's head snapped up and his hand fumbled instinctively for the Glock at his belt. In a split second, he leapt out of his chair, past the desk, and slammed shoulder first through the wooden door of the office. Rolling out into the hallway, he lifted his gun, ready to fire at the insane bomber/ rampant murderer/ (or in the worst-case-scenario) T-virus zombie that awaited him.

Instead, he was greeted with the grinning face of Alpha team member, Jill Valentine. She was squealing like a toddler at a sweets store, muttering phrases that included the words "cute" and "adorable." However, at the sight of her captain, crouched in front of her, gun pointed aggressively at her head and index finger twitching at the trigger, her smile melted away faster than the Witch of the West in a swimming pool. She gaped like a goldfish for several seconds before stammering out a response.

"C-Captain? Are you okay?"

Seeing no immediate danger, Wesker stood up and readjusted his sunglasses as if he had only been strolling in the park. After all, only Wesker could pull something like this off without the fear of ruining his reputation.

"No it's nothing. I heard a scream outside and I thought there was something wro- " He stopped midsentence as he spotted Joseph and his cardboard box. His face darkened and a visible nerve twitched on his forehead.

"Erh…hi captain! How's it…um…going?" Joseph stuttered, squirming under the older man's gaze.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh the box? Why…eh….right. The box!" Joseph stammered, and glanced at Jill for help. She was conveniently examining a nonexistent crack on the ceiling.

"What's in the box? Well…." Sweat dripped down his forehead. Joseph knew that if he lied, he'd end up half-dead in the dumpster outside. He knew that if he told the truth, he'd still end up half-dead in the dumpster outside. Decisions, decisions…

And then a phone rang.

It was coming from inside the S.T.A.R.S. Office. Frost sighed in relief; he could've hugged a grizzly bear if there had been one in the hallway. The captain, on the other hand, furrowed his eyebrows impatiently and headed back into the office to pick up the call.

"Well then, captain. I know you're _incredibly_ busy, so I'll just head on….out." Joseph watched as Wesker paused in the doorway, and slowly turned around to face the younger officer. Confronted with Wesker's signature expressionless stare, he quickly decided otherwise.

"Never mind then…um…I guess, I should…erh….go in?" He gestured to the STARS office. Wesker ignored him and entered the room, grabbing the phone along the way.

"Well, good luck, Joseph." whispered Jill.

"No wait, Jill, don't go," Joseph begged, but she was already gone. He said a quick prayer on his behalf, swallowed nervously and followed his captain, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

* * *

Joseph Frost stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. It was only months ago that the soon to be STARS office had been swarming with construction workers, and the now empty and shining new room unnerved him. His eyes roamed around, stopping briefly to examine the newly painted walls and to readjust his footing in the plush, red carpet. He would have fiddled with his fingers and twiddled his thumbs if he wasn't holding the box in his arms. After a large amount of fidgeting, he decided to past the time by scrutinizing the glossy office desk in front of him.

Wesker's desk was filled to capacity, yet everything was neatly stacked into piles, so straight and so neat they looked like miniature white skyscrapers towering over the brown wood of the table. There was a picture frame in the corner, but instead of holding the generic "wife, child and dog photograph", it was occupied with a team picture of the S.T.A.R.S. The captain could be easily spotted: he was the only one not smiling.

At the moment, however, Wesker was behind his desk, pacing back and forth the length of the room. He seemed to be arguing with whoever was on the other line, and stopped briefly every now and then to stare at the back wall while the other man talked. Poor guy, thought Joseph. It's never a pretty sight to get on the bad side of the captain. He'd had the experience plenty times before.

"No…what?! How did it happen?...What do you expect me to do? I'm not the goddamn tooth fairy you idiot." Wesker's face darkened. "I can't do that! They're not ready…what? No. I told you before…"

Frost took the moment to readjust his grip on the box. Funny. It felt slightly lighter than before. Yes, it was definitely lighter. Wait a minute. What? He took a quick glance into the top of the box and found himself staring into empty brown corners.

"Crap!" He swore softly. It must have gotten out while he was busy sweating over his potential fate. He darted his eyes left and right, scanning the room for any sign of IT. Nothing on the pseudo-leather sofa chair on the right. Nothing next to the potted fern in the corner. Nothing next to the empty trash can next to the desk. Nothing next to the black cat purring besides the lamp. Nothing next to the hanging plaque…wait.

"Shit!" Joseph swore again. IT had escaped. IT was now sitting there, flicking ITs tail back and forth, a hair length away from the captain's leg. Wesker's debate over the phone had, at the moment, gotten even more heated and his sentences were now colorfully filled with inappropriate interjections.

"I'm telling you, I can't do it. THEY can't do it…what? Shit. You can't be serious. This is insane…"

Joseph inched his foot toward the animal, and leaned his weight, gently and slowly forward. He beckoned with his head and attempted to communicate through an intricate twitching of his eyebrows.

It only stared at him.

"Come here you little rascal…come to Uncle Joseph…," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

No response.

"Come HERE. Get back into the box," he growled slightly louder.

Still no response.

"Please. Please get the fuck back into the box." He was almost pleading now. The animal began to turn and walk away.

"No. Nooo! Don't ignore me. Get back here, you…" Joseph snarled and prepared to tackle the cat to the ground. Hearing the noise, Wesker snapped around and faced the younger man. Still holding the phone, he gave Joseph a long, cold, hard stare and mouthed the words "Shut. Up." (Actually, it was closer to "Shut. Up. You ignorant prick or I'll put a bullet through your brain…," but Joseph was a vehicle expert, not a professional lip reader and he didn't really catch the rest.)

The captain turned away and went back to jabbering on the phone. Meanwhile, the cat had found its way on the leather chair behind the desk and was curiously examining the contents on top of the wooden structure.

"What? No…look, YOU don't understand. Huh? Training experience? Are you crazy? Shit. Okay. I understand. Yes, we'll discuss it later."

Wesker seemed to be finishing up his conversation; however, Joseph had his eyes nailed at the cat. It sat amiably on the chair, flicking its tail mockingly at the paralyzed human across the room.

"Don't do it," Joseph hissed through his teeth. He regretted not having paid more attention to those suicide prevention courses earlier in the academy. "Don't do it. You'll regret it."

The animal flicked its tail once more. The young officer could have sworn it was smiling at him as it crouched down, ready to leap…

"Don't do it. DON'T DO IT!" Joseph dropped the box and leapt forward, hoping to grab it before it hit the wood.

* * *

"I thought I told you to SHUT UP, Frost!" Wesker spun around angrily, ready to unleash his pent up fury. What he saw however, stunned him into silence..

The whole room was covered with fluttering papers, billows and clouds of paper just floating around. Case files, finance documents, admission forms, all danced lightly in front of the captain's sunglasses like ballerinas in synchronized rhythm.

The culprit to the chaos sat placidly on the wooden desk amid the papers, flicking its black tail to and fro. The cat had landed on one of Wesker's paper towers, and the stacks had gone toppling over like dominoes.

Joseph had never seen the captain look as shocked as he did now: mouth agape, phone dangling in his hands. It was during this pregnant silence that he realized that he was in a rather suspicious pose, hands out and body leaned forward toward the mess on the desk. He quickly snapped back to his original spot, and grinned rather sheepishly at his commander.

"Hehe. Well, I guess the snow came early, huh? Haha?" Frost searched Wesker's face for some reaction and found none. "Okay. Bad joke. Sorry." he whispered, and stared down at his boots.

He expected the captain to yell, to scream, maybe even grab him by the throat and throw him out the window. Instead, Wesker slowly reached out and grabbed a stray paper in front of him and placed it on the desk. He approached the other man almost amicably, but the pulsing nerve on his forehead gave away his intentions.

"Frost. Would you mind explaining," he paused here, flashing a strained smile, "why there is a cat on my desk?"

"Oh. The cat? Why, its, eh…a present for you. Sir. I…uh…the team thought that you might enjoy…eh….a mascot." Joseph winced as he realized what he had said.

"What?"

"You know, like…Christmas….pres-"

"A PRESENT?! ARE YOU INSANE?" Wesker exploded, screaming on the top of his lungs. Joseph dodged the spittle and contemplated on whether to jump out the window and save them both some time. However, he didn't get the chance as the older man grabbed him by the collar and shook the living daylights out of him.

"Did you know that there is one thing, ONE THING, that I just absolutely hate in this goddamn world?" the blond growled.

"Really sir?"

"Yes, Frost," he hissed. "And you should know never, EVER to bring one in front of me. Do you know what it is?"

"Uh…Little kids?"

"NO, YOU IMBECILE. GOD DAMN ANIMALS! Animals are for dissecting (Joseph raised an eyebrow at this) and eating and kicking. Not for bringing into my office and ruining ALL THE fucking work I did this afternoon." Finished, Wesker released the younger man, sighed, and slumped down in his chair. He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"Get rid of it. NOW," he growled as Joseph hastily picked it up off the desk and held it in his hands.

"Captain?" Jill peeked her head into the room. "Um. I know it's not a good time now, but can I say something?"

"What, Valentine?"

"Well. I was thinking, you know, the team has been under a lot of stress recently, so maybe we could use a mascot. Like the cat. I'm sure it'd raise team morale."

Wesker raised an eyebrow.

"Just think of what the newspapers will say, sir. Don't you think it gives a good image to the public? Special Forces team fosters stray cat? Besides, it doesn't really have anywhere else to go."

The captain took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was about to answer with a steady no, when he spotted the cat in Frost's arms. It stared back at him. He hated to admit it, but the animal _was_ cute. And the way it tilted its furry black head to one side…no. He couldn't let himself fall into its trap.

_You've never liked animals_, Wesker thought to himself, t_his one's no different. Remember your aunt's Siamese that bit you when you were twelve? You remember that don't you Albert? _

But then again, hadn't Irons told him to do something about the press? They had been going berserk after the S.T.A.R.S last mission. Chris, _that idiot_, had accidently shot some dog during a shootout in an apartment last month. Those damn animal activists had jumped right in on accusing the team of animal cruelty and slaughter. It didn't matter to PETA that the dog was a fully grown Rottweiler, it didn't matter to them that it had been trained to go after intruders, and it sure as hell didn't matter to them that it was owned by a serial murderer and rapist. Wesker's head hurt just thinking about the paperwork he had done to shut the idiots up.

This, on the other hand, could turn things completely around. This would show the press that the S.T.A.R.S. did care for animals. And besides, it _did_ look so, so very cute…

"Fine. You can keep it. But if it starts pissin' all over the place, it goes out, understand?"

"Yes sir!" Joseph and Jill responded in unison. Frost even saluted with the cat under one arm. As Jill rushed out of the office to tell the rest of the team, Joseph decided that it'd be best to attempt to apologize to his commander.

"Um, captain, sir? About the papers, if there's anything I can do to make up for-"

"Get the fuck out of here before I shove a grenade down your throat, Frost."

* * *

Wesker sighed as he surveyed the mess on his desk. It would probably take him the rest of the day to reorganize his work. He angrily snatched stray papers off the ground, swearing vehemently with each sheet. That idiot Frost. Someday he'd have his sweet revenge on the imbecile. Someday.

He was halfway through the pile when the phone rang for the second time in the hour. Snatching the phone up he snarled, "Who is it?"

"You know who this is," a voice replied calmly. Wesker perked up in recognition and quickly stood up nervously. He peeked outside the door to check the hallway for any eavesdroppers and found none.

"Don't worry, this line is secure. Just keep your voice down," the voice said, as if sensing the captain's actions. "You received Irons call earlier right?"

"Yes, I did." Wesker answered, settling himself down in his chair. "What you and the company are asking is ridiculous. I need more time with S.T.A.R.S. They're not ready for something like that."

"I'm sure they can handle it. Trust me; it's nothing but a simple, straightforward, hostage situation. Right now, the city officials don't trust S.T.A.R.S. enough, not enough for us to execute our plans. This is a perfect opportunity for you to gain their trust. Show them what the team is capable of."

"That's the point; they're not capable for something of this size. Not yet, at least. Don't ask them to do something I know they can't do!" Wesker felt his anger building up again.

"The S.T.A.R.S. has trained for hostage rescue before right? It's no different. You won't get a chance like this again, Wesker. You better take it while you can."

The captain sighed and rubbed his temples. He debated briefly on whether he should argue some more, but decided against it.

"Alright, when's it going to happen?" Wesker answered reluctantly.

"Our informant tells us the terrorist group is striking tomorrow morning, around 11:00. All you need to do is get inside, disable the criminals and rescue the hostages. There won't be more than five terrorists."

"Raccoon City Mall, top floor, right? Will they be armed?"

"Yes, they are armed. We don't want to make thing _too _easy now, do we?"

"Any bombs?"

"To the best of my knowledge, no."

"Well you're knowledge better be accurate, I've spent time training these guys and I don't want to lose any so early on. We need them."

"Don't worry, everything will be under control. You'll receive more information tomorrow morning. And as a final note, remember Wesker, this is an _opportunity_. Use it well." There was a click and then the line went dead.

"Everything _better_ be under control," Wesker muttered as put the phone down.

* * *

Note: Hopefully, everything is significantly better. Review please, I'll try to write more as soon as I have time...


	2. The Naming

Author's note: Sorry for the wait. Been a bit busy, and my creative juiced don't seem to be flowing well recently. Forgive me if it's a bit bland and not very humorous. Too much dialogue.

* * *

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 2: The Naming

"…and that's how we got our new mascot. So if anyone has a good suggestion for a name, now's the time to bring it up." Jill explained as she pulled out a marker and approached the whiteboard.

Alpha team, along with Rebecca and Forest, were gathered around the R.P.D. lounge discussing the arrival of their newest S.T.A.R.S "member." The lounge, like the team's office, was a new piece to the police department and consisted of simply a table and a few chairs. At the moment, Rebecca sat on the floor in the middle of the room, dangling a stuffed mouse at the cat. The animal had been pawing curiously at the doll, but had lost interest and was currently grooming itself. The rest of the team either sat or stood in various positions around the remainder of the room.

Forest was leaned back casually on one of the chairs, his boots on the table and his hands behind his head. Barry, who was seated next to Forest and had his arms crossed tightly across his chest, appeared unusually somber about the whole situation. Across from the two, Chris was sneaking covert glances at Jill's ass while attempting to copy Barry and look thoughtful with his chin on his fist. In a separate corner, Frost had somehow succeeded in falling asleep standing up and Brad was staring emptily, mouth open, at the bare bulletin board on the wall.

Jill frowned disapprovingly as she scanned the room. How did she ever end up with such a dim witted group of losers? It was amazing how they managed to survive _any_ of their missions without starting World War III.

"Okay. No ideas? I'll start then. How about…um…let's see…Fluffy?"

"Fluffy? You must be kidding me, Valentine," Forest scoffed. "It's a cat. We should give it a cool name. You know… like… Master Chief."

"Master Chief? What the hell is that?" muttered Barry, raising an eyebrow.

"I read it in a book somewhere. It's some type of Navy rank or something."

"And how the hell is that supposed to be a cat's name?"

Forest rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "I dunno. It just, well, came to my head. Spur of the moment thing."

Barry continued to stare skeptically at the sharpshooter.

"Fine, have it your way. Name the stupid thing Fluffy or Fido or something," Forest exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You know what? Maybe someday they'll have a superhero named Master Chief. And then everyone will glorify him and make million dollar costumes after him."

Jill rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Right… and I suppose he'd defeat an army of aliens single handedly and blow up a planet or two," she added sarcastically. "Any _other _suggestions that don't involve ridiculous military ranks?"

"How 'bout we name it Blackie?" suggested Rebecca from the floor.

"I don't know Rebecca, Blackie sounds a bit racist," Barry said kindly, "We wouldn't want the reporters all over our backs about that. We could name him Jet… like 'Jet' Black."

"But I wanted him to have a cute name," Rebecca pouted, throwing the stuffed mouse aside in disgust.

"Any other suggestions?" asked Jill. She took another glance around the room and spotted Chris staring lecherously at her chest. "How about you, Chris? Would YOU like to help out the group?"

"W-what?" he cried loudly, falling off his chair in surprise.

"Would you like to _offer _us a name?" she continued sweetly, sarcasm dripping with every word as she gave him a vicious smile, flashing a row of pearly white teeth. Chris floundered on the floor and racked his brain for a quick answer.

"Name? For the cat? Well, um…we can name him…eh…Tits."

Jill twitched an eyebrow.

"No, wait! I meant Mitts! Mitts! I swear….MITTS!" he stammered, raising up his arms to block a flying white board marker aimed for his head.

"Freud would be proud," sighed Rebecca, rolling her eyes. "The cat is a flat shade of black, Chris; it doesn't even have 'mitts.'"

"I still like Master Chief," Forest interjected stubbornly. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and was about light it when another flying whiteboard market from Jill knocked it out of his hands.

"Master Chief _is_ a bit long for a cat's name. Besides, no one knows what it is. How about something shorter, like…Chief? That's pretty manly." Jill commented.

"Like Chief Irons," added Rebecca, sitting up from the floor. "Since the cat's our mascot, maybe we should name him after people in the station."

Chris stifled a laugh. "Irons? That's like the polar opposite of 'manly.'"

Barry glanced cautiously at the door. "Careful Chris, if he hears you, he might lower our paycheck again. I've got a family to feed, you know."

"You've got a point there Rebecca. It _would_ be quite meaningful if we named it after someone at the station," remarked Jill. "But I guess it just comes down to who deserves it."

"We could name it Rebecca," Forest drawled. "It's sure ugly enough."

"We could name it Forest, its sure stupid enough," countered Rebecca, standing up and clenching her fists. The marksman's face darkened with anger, and he slammed the two front legs of his chair down.

"Hey, hey, hey," Chris said quickly, holding his hands up in an attempt to pacify the two officers. "Now we wouldn't want to get in a fight over a cat's –"

His sentence was cut short when a loud, muffled laugh sounded from the corner. Joseph had apparently found something extremely hilarious and was cracking up like a china plate. His face was the color of cherries and he wheezed constantly while slapping his hand over and over on his knee.

"You alright?" questioned Barry.

"Hah…ha…hehehe… Oh my god. Oh my god. I just thought of the funniest thing." He exploded into another round of giggles and wiped his eyes merrily.

"What's _he_ smoking?" Chris whispered to Forest, who shrugged and went back to sneaking another cigarette out of his pocket while Jill was preoccupied.

"Haha…heh…you know what we should name him? We should name him, haha…we should name him…," Frost took a pause at this point, whether for dramatic effect or for severe lack of air we shall never know.

"We should…we should name him…"

"Name him what Joseph? Spit it out!" Jill growled, readying a third whiteboard marker.

"…name him…Captain Wesker!" At this phrase, Joseph couldn't contain himself and doubled over in choking laughs.

The rest of his team stared, faces frozen and horrified, eyeballs bulging out at his words. Forest's cigarette, which was already halfway to his mouth fell out between his frozen fingers and landed next to his shoe. The room was deathly silent save for an occasional hiccup from the laughing Frost and finally, a dull thump as he flopped over and passed out. No one made a move to help him.

"Did _he_ hear that?" squeaked Rebecca in a bare whisper.

"I don't know. I don't think he's in the station today," Jill whispered back. Cautiously, she tiptoed toward the door, past the prone form of Frost, and peaked out the door.

A cricket chirped from a lonesome crack on the wall.

"Okay, it's safe," Jill answered, carefully closing the door and turning back towards her teammates.

A collective relieved sigh echoed out from the group.

"God damn it Frost, you're going to be the death of us someday," Forest commented as he picked up his cigarette, shook it out, and placed it back in his mouth.

There was sharp giggle from Rebecca on the other side of the room. "Yah, to think of naming the cat…Wesker. That's pretty insane. " As she spoke, her voice seemed unnaturally high and strained.

"You feeling alright, Rebecca?" asked Chris suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "You haven't been smoking what Frost has been smokin', have you?

Rebecca's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" she shrieked. The occupants of the room winced simultaneously at the noise with the exception of Forest, who swore as he dropped his cigarette again.

Chris inspected the teenager for a few seconds before a sly smile crawled across his features.

"Hey Rebecca…you don't…you don't happen to have a _crush_ on…Wesker do you?" he asked.

There came another shrill shriek and the rest of the group quickly stabbed their fingers into their ears. Barry, however, had already fished out his Rebecca-proof ear plugs and was now twiddling his thumbs and smiling blissfully at the ceiling. They're came a weak groan from the corner as Frost was awakened by the sound.

"I don't…I don't LIKE him! No, well, I like him as a captain. But it's not like I think he's good-looking or charming or...or…" Rebecca's voice rose a few octaves higher. Her face had turned a deep shade of red that could have rivaled Frost's earlier asphyxiated state.

"Woah, calm down Rebecca," Chris said quickly. "It's alright, I understand. A lot of teenagers like older…um…stronger... men. I mean, who doesn't like Wesker? Even I think he's pretty handsome."

There was another awkward silence in the room.

"Okay… wait. That came out kind of wrong." Chris added softly.

Jill reached quietly behind her and grasped the rest of the whiteboard markers in one hand.

"Now wait a minute Jill! Wait a min-Ow! Okay! Oww! I'm sorry!" He gave a yelp as he was pelted by a dozen plastic missiles and hurriedly dove behind Forest. The sharpshooter swore as he was caught in the cross fire.

Barry cleared his throat quickly, and turned empathetically toward Rebecca. "What Chris means is, Rebecca, there's nothing wrong with having a crush. You're a teenager, and you've got a lot of stray hormon-"

"FOR THE LAST TIME. I DON'T. LIKE. HIM!!"

The door slammed open.

To Rebecca's horror, Wesker himself stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed and face twisted with annoyance. She made a small squeak as she spotted her Captain but made no move to escape.

"Don't like who…?" questioned Wesker, raising an eyebrow at the occupants of the room.

When no one answered, he crossed his arms and stared hard at the medic. "Anyways, I can't do any fucking work with Rebecca here breaking the windows."

Rebecca turned 15 shades of purple, starting from pink and ending somewhere in magenta. "So-sorry Captain," she whispered staring down at her shoes. Her converses were suddenly extremely interesting.

Wesker ignored her. "More importantly, we've got a situation over at Raccoon City Mall. I need Alpha team there ASAP, so get off your ass and gear up. Forest, Rebecca, since you two are here, you might as well come a long. This won't be a nice one. More info when we get there. " He spun on his heels and began to head out the door.

"Wait, Captain!" Frost pulled himself to his feet, standing up and blocking the doorway. He flashed an idiotic smile. "Guess what? Guess what we're going to name the cat?"

"I don't think I _want_ to know, Frost," Wesker seethed, attempting to side step the other man.

"We're going to name it Wesker. After you!"

There was a dull thump as Forest slammed his forehead straight down onto the table. Barry had his face buried in his hands and Chris was attempting to inch his way to the other side of the room.

"What?" Wesker responded, face bewildered. Frost's statement hadn't really sunk in yet and was somewhere between his auditory neurons and his brain.

"We're going to name the cat, Wesker, after you!" he repeated. The younger man silently congratulated himself for finally getting a glimpse of what a shocked Captain Wesker looked like. What a Kodak moment.

"Um…Captain. It was Joseph's idea. We had no part in this. Just thought I should…let…you…" Jill didn't bother to finish her comment since Wesker didn't seem to be listening. He was still staring at Frost, face frozen like a wax figure.

Finally, he seemed to regain his senses and sputtered out a few words: "No. Absolutely not."

"Aww…Captain! Why not?" Frost whined.

"It's ridiculous," the older man objected.

"I don't think it's ridiculous," a disembodied voice remarked, floating out from somewhere down the hallway behind Frost. There were steady thumps as the man approached, his pot belly swinging like a pendulum with every step. Wearing an oily vest, he sniffed and rubbed smugly at his mustache as he walked past Frost and entered the room.

"Chief Irons." Wesker didn't bother to mask his dislike.

"Wesker is a perfectly find name for the cat. I think it suits him just fine," the chief assured, glancing tauntingly at the blond whose face darkened considerably as he glared back. Wesker mentally reminded himself that once he returned to his office, he would be sure to place Irons a little higher on his "who-to-kill- first-when-city-faces-inevitable-zombie-apocalypse" list. Maybe even above Joseph.

"Really Chief? That's great! It's decided then," Frost quipped. Sensing Wesker's oncoming wrath, he quickly headed out the door to gear up. The rest of the team stood up cautiously and crept past the door single file, following Joseph's lead.

"That was unnecessary, Irons," Wesker snarled when the Special Forces team had left. Strolling to the middle of the room, he spotted the stuffed mouse and kicked it savagely at the wall.

"Gotta let them have their fun once in a while," the Chief answered, following the Captain with his eyes. "…while they still have the chance. On a serious note Albert, this…'mall thing'…is a very important operation. I just wanted to remind you, even if the team is not ready… well, you understand. If you have to sacrifice a few to improve the public's view of S.T.A.R.S., then be sure you do."

"Is that all you came here for? To tell me not to fuck up?"

"No, what I said-"

Wesker spun around and walked up nose to nose to the overweight, oily police chief. Jabbing a finger at the pudgy flesh on his chest he spoke in a soft, dangerous voice.

"Now listen here, you bastard. I don't care if William is filling your fucking pockets, I don't even fucking care if Umbrella considers you 'vital' to their plans. Don't think you're running things here. Don't think you can go around telling ME what to do. You hear me?" He gave another jab for good measure.

Irons wasn't intimated and simply chuckled softly, double chin jiggling like pudding. He took a step backward from the blond's fuming form and casually exited the room.

"Albert…Albert…hot headed as always," he called back as he disappeared down the hallway, shiny leather shoes squeaking on the newly polished floor.

"Asshole," Wesker spat. He took a second to compose himself and was about leave when he heard a small sound from behind him. Turning around, he spotted the cat lounging next to the window, tail flicking and eyes gazing emotionlessly at the captain.

"Fucking cat," he grumbled. He readjusted his sunglasses and left the room.

* * *

Wow. This chapter was pretty much all dialogue. You know what? I've always wanted to name my dog Master Chief, but my parents said that it was too long of mouthful to say. And then I told them that we could just call him MC, but they disagreed.

Hm. On a side not, I don't think this chapter wasn't as great as the last one. Got to get those creative juiced pumping again.


	3. Preparations

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, school has been a killer. Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for it. As for RE5, I've forced myself to not play it until after all this crazy schoolwork is done, which isn't until late May. However I couldn't resist looking up spoilers. Well just one very specific spoiler in particular. More about it at the end of the chapter.

As for this chapter itself, erh…I dunno. Beginning is a bit dull, since I've been forced to *gasp* move the plot along, but I hope it gets better near the middle. Enjoy.

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 3: Preparations

A blur of blue and white flashed down the road and disappeared into the horizon, leaving the shrill ringing to linger in the morning air. In a matter second, yet another police car raced by, blinding the bystanders with its red and white lights and deafening them with another wave of noise. By this time, crowds of people had exited the various shops alongside the road, curious of the commotion and hungry for something to blog about in their otherwise, mundane and dreadfully boring lives. However, there was one person among the others whose intent was quite different from the average citizen.

The man sat on one of the outdoor metal tables in front of an unassuming coffee store adjacent to the road. He was wearing a shockingly white suit with fancy lapels and had on a pair of shiny, brown Oxfords. With one leg crossed over the other, he casually sipped a cup of very un-delicious coffee and watched the spectacle like a tourist viewing an animal at the zoo. Seeing a small toddler jump in alarm as an armored truck flew past, he chuckled softly and pulled out a cell phone from one of the pockets of his blaringly white pants. Delicate, long fingers punched the metal keypad, and after a moment's pause, he held it up to his ear, smile unwavering and eyes still locked onto the passing cars. There was a click as the line connected.

"The S.T.A.R.S are currently heading over your way. Looks like the plan is going smoothly," the white suited man murmured into the phone.

"Everything's ready here," answered the voice on the other line.

"How about our… little surprise? Have you got it all set-up?"

There was a slight pause as the other man hesitated to speak.

"Yes…it's ready. But, listen, I still don't know if this is a good idea. You're doing this without Umbrella's permission, and if things go out of hand…well..."

The man's smile sank a bit around the sides and his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Now listen here John. It's John right? Umbrella is not a problem. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"I know, but it's just…what if things go wrong? What if—"

"Now's not the time for this, John. Let's save this discussion for later. Is Savage there? Let me speak to him," the man ordered, calmly picking up a coffee stirrer and twirling it about with his nimble fingers. The toddler at the side of the road spotted the finger acrobatics and stared mesmerizingly at the spectacle.

"…if you say so," the voice answered reluctantly. "Let me get Savage. He's over here, hold on a minute." There was a moment of loud static as the phone was passed from hand to hand.

"Savage here," said the new speaker, his voice distinctively gravely and deep.

"Listen, Savage. That new guy…John's the name right? Well, he doesn't seem very sure about himself. What's your take on him?" the man questioned.

"He's a coward. We don't need him," Savage replied.

"Very well," the white suited man answered, violently snapping the coffee stirrer in two. "Do us all a favor, and take him out."

Silence followed, before loud, desperate shouts could be heard from the other line.

"Wait, Savage? What are you- No! Please! You're not going to listen to that idiot are you? He's part of Umbrella! Please, Savage, listen! You're not really going release that thin—" The man screams were stopped abruptly as a loud bang, followed by a soft thump came through the phone.

"Done," said Savage without a hint of remorse.

"Excellent. It's comforting to know that I can always count on you. Now all that's left is to initiate _it_, and we'll be set." The white suited man, still holding the phone, dropped a few dollars on the table before heading out the gated coffee store area.

"The S.T.A.R.S. won't be a problem then?" mumbled Savage through the phone.

The man in white only chuckled in response. As he strolled down the lane, he winked maliciously at the toddler who had been watching him. The little boy began to cry and he quickly hid behind his mother's skirt.

"Don't worry, they're inexperienced and not even close to your skill level. It'll be a breeze. And like I told John –may he rest in peace- I've got Umbrella under control. They don't have a clue what's really going on. Those rich assholes think that this is some type of show to increase the S.T.A.R.S reputation."

"So it won't matter if I take a few of those bastards down, will it?"

"Do as you wish," the suited man replied. As he clasped the phone shut, he spotted the boy's mother crouched down and attempting to comfort her bawling child. Without a moment's hesitation, he smoothly approached the two and smiled, flashing a row of uncannily perfect, white teeth.

"Is everything alright here?" he asked, switching suddenly to a heavy British accent that had been completely absent in his earlier conversation.

"I'm sorry, my child here…the police cars probably scared him," the woman apologized, gazing up at the stranger. He broadened his smile, not unlike a predator baring its fangs. Bending down, he held out his hand to the little boy.

"Nothing here right?" he grinned deviously, showing the boy his empty hand. He smoothly pulled up both sleeves, and wiggled his fingers in the air like a magician prepping for a finale. "There's nothing up my sleeves…"

In one swift motion, he flipped his hands sideways and back again to reveal a wrapped lollipop held between his fingers. The little boy stared wordlessly at the trick.

"Take it and say thank you to the nice man, Tommy," the mother whispered softly, pushing the little boy forward. Despite his mother's words, "Tommy's" eyes began to swell up, and he promptly began to hollow and wail with renewed bravado. The woman shrugged hopelessly at the man in white and mouthed a silent apology. She took the lollipop and briskly shoved the child away, scolding him harshly as they left.

The man grinned at the retreating figures, before turning around and approaching a dark luxurious sedan parked around the corner. Spotting his own reflection on the tinted windows of his car, he ran a slender hand through the dark hair, readjusted his suit, and flashed a faux smile before opening the door and entering the car. A few minutes later, the car sped out the corner and headed toward the flashing police lights in front of Raccoon City Mall.

* * *

Chris stood in the parking lot of the mall, one hand shielding his eyes against the blazing sun as he craned his head upwards at the building in front of him. Three stories high and remarkably long, the mall could have swallowed the R.P.D. building whole with plenty of room to spare. A gracious result of the taxpayers' money, the mall was the "shining, new jewel" of the city, according to Raccoon City mayor.

Chris winced in memory of that hot Saturday afternoon, where he and the rest of S.T.A.R.S had to endure a 40 minute long speech eulogizing the building as if it was a glorious war hero recently pronounced dead. The rest of the crowd sure wasn't happy to be there, and Chris swore he had heard a collective sigh of relief when the Mayor ended with a ear splitting final line whose meaning had since drowned under the overuse of clichéd metaphors. _Yes, Mr. Mayor, I'm absolutely __**positive**__ that the mall can simultaneously drive out terrorists, feed the hungry, and preserve rainforests_. _Now let's get the fuck out of here, before we all die of heat stroke,_ Chris had thought to himself sarcastically before joining the unenthusiastic applause.

_Now look of the state of it,_ Chris thought as he lowered his hand and smiled grimly. With yellow tape lined around the building and an innumerable amount of patrol cars along with shotgun hefting men aiming at its doors, he doubted the mall would have any more visitors for a while.

From his peripheral view, Chris suddenly became vaguely aware that a car was heading towards him…and it didn't seem to be stopping.

_Screeech! _

At the sound, Chris instinctively threw himself to one side and watched in horror as a wheel rolled to a stop just inches besides his head. A patrol car had swooped up behind him and had barely missed turning him into a human pancake. _Or maybe a sandwich. No scratch that_, Chris thought to himself, _Getting run over by a car doesn't really equal a sandwich. Now if you were somehow stuck in some death trap elevator with the ceiling coming down on you…now __**that **__would be a sandwich. Wait…what the hell? I just narrowly missed getting sent down to God knows where, and now I'm thinking of sandwiches? What's wrong with me?_

The S.T.A.R.S officer lay prone, adrenaline pumping through his body, as the door to the car swung open and a pair of shiny combat boots stepped out and anchored themselves down in front of his face.

"Sorry, Redfield. I didn't see you," came a familiar, monotone voice from above him. "Right. You didn't see me…" Chris answered aridly, from below. He rolled to one side and quickly stood up. "We're in the middle of the parking lot, Captain. Excuse me for my language, but there's not a fucking thing around us except for asphalt. HOW THE HELL DID YOU NOT SEE ME?!'"

"It was an honest mistake, Redfield. It won't happen again. I promise," Wesker answered as the sides of his mouth lifted up in a faint and uncharacteristic smirk. Was that sarcasm tainting his voice? Chris let out an angry breath and willed himself not to punch his superior in the face, reminding himself that picking a fight with Wesker would probably result in Jill finding his bullet-ridden body at the bottom of a river. Muttering under his breath, Chris turned away and headed toward the parked S.T.A.R.S. truck.

Wesker watched the younger man go, and felt a surge of regret. God damn it. He had been so close. Just a few more inches to the left, and there'd be one less person on his ever elongating "people-to-kill-and-torture-when-the-zombie-apocalypse-arrives" list. He'd been looking forward to scratching out Chris Redfield. _But then again, I suppose I still need that idiot for my coming schemes. Besides, running over one of my officers probably wouldn't have looked nice on my record...and people say I'm not optimistic._, Wesker smiled inwardly to himself as he closed the car door and honed in on a group of police men who were talking rapidly among each other and gesturing toward the S.T.A.R.S. truck.

"What's the status here?" he asked the nearest officer.

"I hate to say it, but it's not looking that great. 15 hostages, we don't know how many gunmen. They've rigged up the entrances with explosives, so there's no way we're getting in there anytime soon," the man answered. "The leader is asking for some crime lords out of jail and a heli-"

"It doesn't matter what they're asking for. They aren't going to get it," Wesker interjected sourly. Without bothering to thank the young man, he left and joined the rest of Alpha team besides their armored truck.

* * *

"How is it, Captain?" Barry asked the minute Wesker arrived. Leaning against the side of the van, the family man was absent mindedly polishing his magnum.

"Bad. We need a way inside but they've got the doors rigged with enough explosives to send us all to infinity and beyond."

"How about the glass ceiling on the top floor?" suggested Jill. Ever ready, the female officer stood besides Barry, armed to the teeth and with her characteristic beret tilted at an angle on her head. "We could probably get a 'copter to get us up there, and we could come crashing in and give those bastards a nasty surprise."

"That's assuming they don't hear the "oh-so-silent" engine and see a giant metal form looming over them." Forest retorted. Sitting against the open back door of the truck, the Bravo member was puffing triumphantly at his cigarette, exhaling as loudly as possible in an attempt to annoy Jill.

"The whole point is to not let them know we're coming until the last possible second. If they do find out, then the hostages go…" the marksmen held his forefinger and thumb, in the shape of a gun, up to his head and made a shooting noise out of the side of his mouth. "We gotta figure out a way to get in covertly."

There was a period of silence as the team lowered their head and rubbed their chins in thought.

"We've sure got our balls in a vice, huh," Joseph finally commented.

"Technically, that wouldn't be the correct term to use," Barry remarked, placing his magnum back in the holster. "Given that Jill and Rebecca are here."

"Yah so?"

"Frost, they're girls," Forest growled, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Yah, I know that. So?" Joseph answered as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Therefore, you can't say 'balls in a vice.' It doesn't apply…get it, dimwit?"

A few quiet seconds passed, as the gears clicked and turned in Frost's head. Face contorted in thought, he turned his gaze from Jill, to Forest, and then back to Jill again.

"Wait…why not?"

Jill didn't hesitate as she smacked the man over the head with a metal pipe that had been conveniently lying around in the truck.

"Go back to high school, you immature prick," she muttered under her breath.

"Forest, did you get in contact with the rest of Bravo?" Wesker interjected, ignoring the groaning officer writhing on the ground.

"Nah. Enrico says they're still on the training mission. Even if they leave now they won't get back to the city until late afternoon."

"Damn." Barry swore softly. "How the hell are we going to do this with just seven of us?"

"Six," Jill corrected. "Brad's not coming. He says he's come down with a bad case of um…erh…something like pneumotrama something volcano-itis. I don't remember, it was pretty long."

"More like chickenitis," Forest snickered under his breath.

"Okay, then it's six. Big deal, we're still at a disadvantage," Chris replied.

"No, it's seven. I'm coming to." Rebecca, who had absent mindedly checking Joseph's pulse, suddenly stood up and faced the others. "You're not leaving me behind."

"NO," came the simultaneous reply from the rest of the team with the exception of a stone faced Wesker and the incapacitated Joseph, who twitching on the ground, seemed to be going through some type of seizure.

"I've done my training, just like the rest of you!" Rebecca squeaked defiantly, placing her hand on her hips. "What if there's a hostage injured? What if one of you guys gets injured?"

"Listen to me, Rebecca," Jill reasoned softly, placing a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "This isn't training anymore. This is the real thing. People could get killed. _You_ could get killed!"

"I doubt it. I'm sure that once Rebecca gets her lungs worked up she could probably knock out a few of those terrorists herself. 'Course we'd have to get everyone equipped with one of Barry's ear plugs…," Chris added jokingly, jabbing Barry with an elbow.

"That's NOT FUNNY!" Rebecca screeched, face turning read. The rest of the team winced in unison.

"Point proven," Chris whispered under his breath, cringing at the noise.

Jill attempted to try another angle and turned to Wesker, her expression worried and frantic.

"Sir, say something!" she implored, "You can't possibly let Rebecca come along, can you?"

"Hmm..," the captain murmured, rubbing his chin in thought. He paused for a moment, as if contemplating an idea, before a faint smile crept to his lips. "Of course, Chris did bring up a good point…"

"Now, wait a minute," butted in Barry. "Captain, you can't be serious!"

"Realistically, there really may be injured hostages," Wesker answered, countenance now stern and solemn. "There may be some use for a medic…"

"So I can come?" chirped Rebecca, her face alit with renewed hopefulness.

"Yes, Chambers, you can come, provided you stay in the back, keep your head down when the bullets start flying-"

"Yes!" Rebecca cried triumphantly, jabbing a fist in the air.

"-and that Redfield duct tape your mouth shut before you 'accidently' warn every terrorists within five miles of our location," Wesker added, stone faced expression unwavering. The young medic's jaw dropped off its hinge, her fist still in the air.

"Damn, that guy's good," Chris whispered to Forest, who nodded in agreement.

* * *

"Okay, so we have seven people. So what now? We still haven't figured out a way to get in," Forest drawled. Having finished his cigarette, he was getting bored of the conversation.

"Are there any back doors? Delivery doors?" asked Barry, "It's a friggin' mall. I'm sure there's got to be more entrances than just the front."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they've already got lookouts on the roof. Even if we get in from the back, they'll still see us coming from a mile away," Wesker snapped back. Something didn't smell right to the blond. Why would Umbrella set this whole situation in order to boosts the S.T.A.R.S reputation and yet at the same time make the process so difficult? Were they testing _his_ capabilities? Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the current situation as opposed to what would come after.

"Okay, so how about we offer to exchange one of the crime lords they want for a hostage and use the process to get us a chance to hit them hard and low. You know, like a Trojan horse," suggested Jill.

"Like a…what?" Chris blurted out, eyes widening.

Jill stopped midsentence in her explanation, closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths. A nerve twitched on her forehead.

"A Trojan horse," she repeated finally, after a slight pause.

"Oh. Right." There was another pause, as Chris digested her words. "Wait. Isn't that like a cond-"

Chris didn't get a chance to finish as Jill skillfully hooked one foot under the man's ankle, and kicked it out from under him. Chris went down with a grunt and a sickening thud as his head hit the pavement.

"What are you guys? High school drop outs?" she muttered, giving downed man another kick for good measure.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't disable all my officers before the fight even starts, Valentine," Wesker said with a smirk, staring approvingly at the unconscious Chris, who had involuntarily decided that the asphalt was a good place to pass out on.

"Sorry, Captain. I'll dispose of the bodies, right away." Jill saluted mockingly and pretended to lift up the manhole she had been standing up.

Wesker's eyes widened suddenly and he snapped his fingers with a sudden realization.

"That's it!" he cried and began to laugh in a somewhat demonic manner, but quickly smoothed it into a nondescript "ha-ha-ha" before anyone got too suspicion.

"Um….Eureka?" Forest mumbled, raising an eyebrow.

"The sewers, Forest! The Raccoon city sewer lines must run under the mall. There's got to be a way up from there," Barry exclaimed, catching on to Wesker's train of thought. "You're a genius, Jill!"

"I am?" the female officer answered quizzically, pointing a finger at herself.

But no one was around to answer her, as Wesker and Barry, followed by the rest of the team, had already rushed off to find a copy of the city blueprint. Staring at the two unconscious men at her feet, she let out a tired sigh and bent down to resuscitate them. Engrossed with the job, she didn't notice a fleeting black form dart out from beneath the truck and head in the direction the rest of Alpha team had taken.

* * *

"This is brilliant, Captain," Barry stammered as he scrutinized the city blueprint, which was currently spread out on top of one of the patrol cars. Jabbing a finger at the vertical line that ran up and into the square box that represented the mall, he turned to face Wesker, who was nonchalantly examining his Glock for any faults that might prove fatal in the heat of battle. Better cautious than dead.

"We enter from the basement of this nearby restaurant," Barry continued, indicating the spot with another jab. "Once we get into the lines, all we have to do is take a few turns and voila, will come up right under the mall. Those terrorists won't see a thing! Hey! Captain? Are you even listening to me?"

Wesker sighed and replaced the firearm to his holster.

"I hear you. Where does the line lead up to in the mall, specifically?"

"Um…let's see. It's a storage room near the garage level of the building. There's an emergency stairway that leads directly up to the level the hostages are on. We can take that, or worst case scenario, give the elevators a try."

"Elevators are a definite no," Wesker grumbled. "But it's alright; at least we've got a way in. We'll think of a way up to the hostages once we get there."

The blond paused, and turned his shaded eyes towards the parking lot. A few cars had arrived late, among them Chief Irons' Volkswagon and another black sedan that he didn't recognize. Directly behind the two vehicles were several security vans with a familiar symbol plastered on their sides: the red and white Umbrella.

"Fuck." Wesker snarled under his breath. "Barry, get the team prepped and ready to move out. I need to speak with Irons first."

"No need to call the team, Captain. We're ready for action on your word," piped Jill, who had suddenly appeared at his side.

"I'll go speak with the restaurant owner then," Barry said and he hurried off to a cheap Italian pizzeria down the street. By this time, Irons had managed to squeeze his stomach out of the front seat and was turning to shake hands with the visitor from the sedan. Jill flinched as her eyes were momentarily blinded by the man's blatantly white suit. _I suppose Wesker's sunglasses do come in handy in times like this_, she thought to herself, as she followed her Captain toward the Chief and the man in white.

Wesker's stance was as friendly as an alien Predator as he stood to face the newcomers, his frown evident on his face. When the stranger offered him his hand, the captain only stared disgustingly at it as if he had been presented a disfigured, misshapen baby.

"What's _he_ doing here, Irons?" the blond demanded, face twisted in hatred as he nodded toward the man in white.

"Well, well, well. You must be Captain Wesker then? I see you're quite the sociable man that I've heard so much about," the newcomer drawled in a perfect British accent.

"You're with Umbrella." Wesker stated rather than asked, eyeing the badge on the man's suit.

"Absolutely. To be more specific, I'm with the Umbrella private task force. Chief Irons here has asked me to come and give you guys a hand…if you need the help," the man added, seeing the captain's face darkening. "Call me Ritchie. Ritchie Stewart."

"We've got everything handled," Wesker spat, never taking his eyes off the Umbrella operative as if he was a ticking time bomb about to mutate at any moment.

"It's all yours, Captain," Ritchie replied as he waved a hand at the mall and bowed mockingly. "My men will be here if things…go awry." He flashed a grin that had all the warmth of a refrigerator freezer.

Wesker looked like he had just swallowed something bitter and he turned to glare accusingly at Chief Irons. The obese man only shrugged as if to say "not my problem."

"So," the chief coughed awkwardly, sensing the animosity building. "Captain, have you found a way to get into the mall yet?"

"Why yes, sir," Jill answered eagerly. "We're heading in through the-"

"-Through the front door," Wesker finished, flashing the female officer a warning glare. Jill turned her head questioningly, but didn't say anything else.

"Are you sure about that? Didn't they set explosives on the doors?" Ritchie countered as he raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"They won't be a problem," the captain stated. He scowled menacingly at the man in white. "Besides, how did _you_ know that they had the entrances laced with explosives?"

"Word gets around fast here. You didn't think I'd jump right into this without getting the basic situation down, did you?" Ritchie answered smoothly. Wesker only grunted in reply.

The blond was doing some quick reasoning at the moment, since this "Ritchie Stewart's" appearance turned everything upside down. Why the hell did Umbrella send in a separate task force when just yesterday they had informed him that the whole situation was simply a set-up? Judging from Ritchie's appearance, the man seemed pretty high up on the Umbrella power ladder, yet why hadn't the company bothered to inform their mole that they had sent in another operative? Wesker knew that his covert operation in the RPD was known only to a select number of people; however there was no way of telling if Ritchie was one of them. _But Umbrella would never send in just anybody if they knew it would jeopardize my cover. _Wesker reasoned to himself. _Unless…unless this asshole was working outside of the company's knowledge. Maybe he's just some idiot trying to scrape up some change by playing "mercenary" right under Umbrella's noses. _Wesker smiled cruelly at the thought. _If this bastard somehow screws everything up, boy, is he going to get it._ _Umbrella would cook him alive._

The blond snapped out of his musings as Ritchie suddenly stiffened, smile melting as he swiftly glanced around. The dark haired man sniffed cautiously at the air, as if there was some pungent smell floating around, and then he….sneezed. Twice.

"Bless you?" Jill said tentatively, turning her head toward Irons for an explanation. The chief seemed as baffled as ever.

"Ah…choo! Ah…what is this…ah…," the Umbrella employee gasped, his face turning a dangerously beet red. He attempted to stutter something and unfortunately, took a glance down at his feet, and promptly uttered a piercing, girlish scream. Wesker's first instinct was to yank out his Glock and drop to the ground, but he suppressed the reflex and instead followed the screaming man's gaze…

It took all of his self control to prevent himself from bursting out in laughter at what he discovered. Latched on to Ritchie's blaringly white pants was a cat.

A black cat.

"Wait…," Wesker thought to himself, as his brain began to process the image. "Isn't that…?"

* * *

"FFRROO-OST!!!"

Joseph snapped up at the sound of his name being roared across the parking lot. Dropping the gun he had been polishing from his hand, he jumped up and sprinted past the idle police cars and officers, who were staring curiously at the source of the noise. Putting on his game face, he mentally prepared himself for what he would meet.

Perhaps an insane murderer? Perhaps a damsel in distress? Most certainly a damsel in distress. Maybe it would be Jill. He almost glowed in pride as he ran, imaging himself rushing to the rescue, heroic and brav-

"FROST! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!!"

Okay, maybe not. He recognized the voice to be Captain Wesker's, and that definitely did not bode well for Joseph's well being. Regretting his earlier eagerness, he slowed down to a jog as he approached the noise. He practically fell over in surprise at the scene that greeted him there.

"Frost! Get over here!" Wesker bellowed, pointing violently at a stranger who seemed to be doing some type of odd interpretive dance that involved him shaking one of his legs crazily in several directions. Joseph was forced to blink twice as he was accosted with the man's shockingly white suit. Damn. Sometimes he wished he had on a pair of Wesker's shades.

At first, the vehicle specialist thought that he was looking at a poison victim. The man in white was shrieking his head off, and the high pitched panicked sound could have rivaled Rebecca's in pitch. A second looked proved that the object of his fears was a black cat which had attached itself to one of the man's pant legs, and it didn't seem to be letting go of the cloth anytime soon.

"Wesker!?" Joseph gasped, suddenly realizing how deep in shit he was going to be. "What are you doing here?" In one quick leap, he swept the cat up and held it protectively in one arm.

Wesker was tight lipped and as pale as a corpse. Jill was suddenly reminded of a conversation that the team had a few months back where the S.T.A.R.S had all agreed that none of them had ever seen Wesker blush. After some intense discussion, they had finally come to the conclusion that Wesker only paled, but did not ever blush.

Joseph had suggested that perhaps the captain had no living blood, and was in fact a vampire that fed on the blood of innocents at night. Jill had efficiently smacked the young officer several times with a newspaper before locking him up in the storage closet. Now that she thought back on it, the whole incident probably explained why the locker room had started to smell suspiciously of garlic a few weeks later.

"I'm sorry, that thing-" Ritchie stuttered for a few moments, before remembering that he was supposed to be British. Clearing his throat, he straightened up and smoothed down his suit, attempting to not look flustered anymore.

"Please excuse my…eh…little demonstration. I have a phobia toward cats. In fact, I'm quite allergic to them. I'd appreciate…," he gave a little shudder here, "…if you get…get that THING, away from me. Please," he added as an afterthought.

"No need to apologize," Irons said calmly, attempting to look sympathetic. "Besides it's not you who needs to do the apologizing." He shot Wesker an accusing look.

"You've got some explaining to do," he whispered out of the side of his mouth at the S.T.A.R.S captain. White as a sheet, Wesker stiffened considerably at the accusation, before turning to face Joseph.

"Honestly, Captain! I..I…didn't know he'd got into the truck," Frost stammered.

Wesker grabbed the younger officer by the collar and yanked him aside snarling something incomprehensible. Jill watched the pair disappear in one direction before eyeing the cat the Joseph had dropped on the ground. It sat there staring up at the female officer, expression unreadable. Sighing, she reached down, picked it up, and carried it back to the truck.

* * *

End note: Whew! I think that was the longest chapter I've ever written. But most likely once I upload it up, it'll look short as hell. It always happens like that. Sigh.

_*Heavily implied spoilers below. Read at your own risk.*_

Anyway, RE5. After reading the spoilers, I only have one thing to say.

I HATE YOU CAPCOM.

I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU… Yes, well I suppose we all expected it. And yes, I can see how it was necessary, how they had to end it some time, and how there wasn't really any other way, and how I really shouldn't get caught up so much over a fictional character, but damn it Capcom!! Call me a crazy rabid fangirl, but DARN YOU CAPCOM. Why? At least you could have made it much more suave and sleek, but NOooo. You just had to go with the stereotype didn't you. ARGH!

Sigh. Whoever co-ops with me is going to have a hard time beating the final level.


	4. Into the Sewers

Note: Sorry for the long wait. Any free time I have is all spent playing RE5. More about that later. And also, thanks for spotting my error in the last chapter. I was following the script from my old story, and forgot that I had changed some stuff around. And of course, I appreciate all your reviews.

* * *

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 4: Into the Sewers

"Blasted cat_,_" Ritchie muttered to himself as he smoothed out the wrinkles of his white suit.

Hidden between two of Umbrella's armored trucks, he was finally out of sight from the mocking glances of the officers in the area. He hated those blue-suited bastards. After the little incident earlier in the parking lot, he could hear them snickering every time he walked passed. _But they won't be laughing soon_, Richie thought to himself, smiling wickedly as he pictured the chaos that would soon unfold. _Those god damn pigs will get what they deserve_.

The dark haired man peeked around the sides of the vehicles to be sure that there were no eavesdroppers. Seeing no one in the vicinity (save for a black cat sneaking into a nearby pizzeria), he slipped a slender hand into one of his pockets and retrieved his cell phone. He snapped it open, punched in a number, and held it up to his ear. There was a click as the other side picked up.

"What's the situation out there?" asked the gravelly voice from the phone.

"S.T.A.R.S has arrived on the scene. I think they have something up their sleeves, but I wasn't able to figure out how they're planning on getting into the mall," Ritchie answered. "Be on your guard, Savage. They may be a bunch of naïve idiots, but they've still got the potential to screw things up."

"We'll be on the lookout," Savage replied. "By the way, that captain of theirs…isn't he a part of Umbrella?"

Ritchie gave a chuckle at the comment and casually ran his hand over the unique red and white insignia painted on the metal plates of the truck.

"He was planted in the police department not long ago in hopes of giving Umbrella more control over Raccoon city's law enforcement. From what I've heard, he's a pretty nasty fellow and the only S.T.A.R.S. member with a functional brain."

"How much does he know?"

"I have no idea. Anyhow, just play it safe and take him out the moment you lay eyes on the bastard. He's recognizable. Wear's a pair of creepy sunglasses all the time."

"Umbrella would slaughter you if they found out you got their mole killed."

"Let those assholes come and get me," Ritchie snapped back, a sudden wave of anger distorting his calm countenance.

"You shouldn't talk like that. You know what they can do…"

The white-suited man only snarled viciously in reply.

"You know what Savage? I can't take any more of their _shit_. They think they've got the whole world worshipping them…all Spencer does is lounge around in that _bloody _mansion of his while he sends the rest of us out to do the grunt work. And when things get screwy…who do you think takes the fall?" Ritchie paused in the middle of his tirade, taking a few deep breaths and attempting to quell his fury.

"Well, you know what? If they think I'm going to just lie down and roll over while they…they…_ridicule_ me…by God they are going to _get_ what they deserve!" Clenching his fist in rage, he slammed it full force into the image on the side of the truck.

Savage did not seem surprised by the sudden outbreak of emotion, and his unwavering voice carried easily over the line.

"Calm down. The last thing we need is you fucking up this whole strategy by drawing attention to yourself," he said, his voice slightly harsher that the rough drawl it had been. "There's no need to get hot headed. You'll get your revenge when the time comes."

Ritchie glanced nervously over his shoulder before turning to the phone, face morphing back into the neutral, confident demeanor it usually wore.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I got carried away," he murmured back. "We better get back to business. Did you release…_it_ yet?"

"The dogs are still here, like you asked. But I got the men to drag a few of the bodies down to the basement level and…we followed your instructions verbatim from there on."

"Fabulous," Ritchie commented, glancing at his watch. "I would estimate…about ten or fifteen minutes before those _things_ start getting up. But once it begins, it shouldn't take them more than a few minutes to find their way up to the first floor. The smell of humans should show them the way."

"If that's the case, you better hurry and get inside before they reach the ground floor. You_ are_ coming in, right?"

"Of course. Once I call Umbrella and tell them that their precious research has gotten loose, they'll label me a dead man," Ritchie answered, smiling inwardly to himself despite the morbid topic. "Staying out here would only give them the chance they need to get to me. Up there, it won't be that easy. And besides, I wouldn't want to miss a moment of my precious revenge."

"We've got the stairs blocked and the entrances sealed. If they want to kill you, they'd have to go through a hell of a lot of trouble, not to mention those _things_ that will be swarming the ground floor."

"Let's get going, then, shall we? You know what to do, Savage. Just follow the plan," Ritchie said, smirking into the truck's side view mirror. Seeing a stray hair besides his ear, he licked his fingers before smoothing it back.

"I'll see you soon, then," Savage replied, before a click signaled his exit.

The white suited man snapped his cell phone shut before slipping it back into his pocket. He stood there, in between the trucks, pacing for several minutes before finally exiting the hidden crevice and strolling casually out into the open. Any trace of the anger that had been present before was gone completely, an amiable grin now plastered over his features. A few of the officers in the area, beside their patrol cars, glanced curiously up at the smiling man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. However, their probing stares didn't last long as everyone's attention was diverted to a loud shout across the parking lot.

"Mr. Stewart! Mr. Stewart!" cried a familiar voice.

In a matter of seconds, the red faced, sweating police chief shoved his way past several officers and skidded to a stop besides Ritchie. Obviously agitated, Irons took several (long) minutes to catch his breath.

"Mr. Stewart...I got a call," Irons gasped, barely able to spit out his words. "…I got a call from the terrorists inside the building."

"What did they say?" Ritchie questioned, his face transforming into an expression of seemingly genuine worry.

"The man on the line…," the chief continued anxiously. "He called himself Savage. He said that he wanted a negotiator. "

"So?" Ritchie asked. One of the Iron's eyebrows twitched violently.

"Listen, Ritchie," the chief said, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper and leaning in toward the other man. "Listen here. _None_ of this is going as planned. This was supposed to be a simple mission for S.T.A.R.S, and yet, the explosives, the hostages…it's almost like we've got a bunch of real insane gunmen in there!"

Ritchie choked back a laugh at the comment, before patting the other man's shoulder reassuringly.

"Don't worry, Chief. Umbrella has the whole thing under control, I'm sure everything will end up perfectly fine."

"But…but…I don't understand! If Umbrella wants this operation to boost up the S.T.A.R.S. fame, why the hell are they making it so hard?" Irons said, wringing his hands nervously. "I…I can't let this whole thing fall apart. Think about the police department's reputation...think about _my_ reputation!"

"Brian," Ritchie said, looking at the chief straight in the eyes. "You trust Umbrella, don't you?"

The obese man nodded hurriedly, rolls of fat shaking disgustingly under his chin.

"Then you know this is nothing to get all agitated about. I'm sure this is all part of Umbrella's plan. But…if you're really that worried about it, how 'bout you let me act as the negotiator? I'll just stroll right in and make sure the whole thing is going smoothly and that the 'terrorists' know exactly what they're supposed to be doing." Ritchie winked at the police chief, patting his shoulder once more.

"I…uh…I don't know about this, Ritchie…," Irons stuttered back, his hesitation evident.

"Come on, chief. It'll be fine! In fact, if anything goes wrong, you can put the blame on me. Just tell Umbrella, or the city, or anyone who might question your competence, that the whole thing was _my _idea."

Irons seemed encouraged by the other man's assertion and he nodded thoughtfully.

"But…but…you're alright with all of this? Having all the fault on you?" the police chief asked, looking up questioningly into the smooth, angular face of his companion. Anger flashed for a second through Ritchie's eyes, but was gone so quickly that it left the chief wondering if had even been there in the first place. Instead, the dark haired man grinned confidently and gave the chief another pat on the back.

"I'll be quite alright…I'm used to it," he answered. He straightened up, ignoring Iron's quizzical look, and nodded toward the white walls of the new Raccoon City Mall. "Shall we get going then?"

"Of course, of course. Let me call back and tell them we're sending someone over," Irons said, beckoning to a nearby officer to get the phone. But as the overweight police chief was heading off, Ritchie suddenly shot out a hand to stop him.

"Wait, before you go, Irons…I was wondering," Ritchie asked, smiling innocently. "You haven't by any chance seen the S.T.A.R.S somewhere, have you?"

* * *

"I am, quite literally, _knee-deep_ in shit."

"Shut it, Forest, and stop complaining. It's not like any of us aren't in the same position," Jill snapped, grimacing as she felt her boot squelch into something soft.

The team was currently trekking monotonously through the Raccoon City's Sewer system, whose only function (besides providing comfortable living quarters for an entire population of sewer rats) was to cleanse the city's residents of their unwanted…"muck." The sewer itself was incredibly narrow, forcing the S.T.A.R.S. members to traverse in only a single file line, flashlights bouncing of the stone walls as they proceeded deeper and deeper into the dank tunnel. Occasionally, one of the small, furry inhabitants of the dismal place would skitter across the path, eliciting a sharp (yet painful) yelp from Rebecca, and causing the entire team to mutter obscenities at the young medic from under their breaths.

Chris was up in front of the line, map in one hand and flashlight in the other, as he attempted to lead the team pass numerous forks, intersections, and occasional dead ends. Every now and then he would stop, crinkle the map a little and stare at it sideways, before murmuring something about "missing the turn" and bringing about another round of muddled profanity.

Directly behind Chris came Wesker, whose short-lived patience was brought to the ultimate test as the team darted right, left, right, another right, and then a huge U-turn that brought them back to their original location. However, he seemed to be doing fairly well, save for a few instances of teeth gnashing and several elaborate and imaginative death threats.

Following Wesker's heels was Barry, who was the only one not affected by the awful smell because he had conveniently pinched his nose shut with a wooden clothes hanger. (No one had a clue where he had got it from.) After Barry was Forest, who hadn't ceased complaining about the journey since his combat boots touched the shallow, murky water. Behind him was Jill, who did her best to ignore the constant lamenting of the marksmen and frequently reassured Rebecca, who was behind her, that no, the rats' teeth could _not _get through her leather boots, and no, rats _cannot_ fly and will therefore, not leap out into the air and bite her in the face.

At rear guard was Frost, who seemed unusually quiet throughout the entire journey. Perhaps it was caused by the rather savage admonishment he had received from the captain paired with the inevitable head damage he had suffered through Jill's metal pipe earlier that day.

"This place smells so friggin' awful," Forest complained loudly, his voice echoing eerily down the narrow, stone corridor. "If we ever do get to the mall, we won't even have to pull triggers 'cause those terrorists would be knocked out cold once they get within ten feet of us."

"Actually, the sewer is mostly water. The waste only makes up a small part of it," Jill added, voice pinched as she tried not breath through her nose.

"Then why the hell does it smell so bad?!" Forest growled, kicking at the water angrily. "I wonder if Barry has any extra clothespins."

"It's not the smell you should be worried about," Jill replied from behind. "There are all types of diseases in sewage that could potentially kill people."

"Really?" Forest answered dubiously, raising his eyebrows and staring suspiciously at the brown muck around his feet. "Like _what_?"

"Well…there's…erh…" the female officer said hesitantly, scratching her head. "There's…"

"There's cholera," Wesker interrupted suddenly, his peculiar voice ringing down from the front of the line. "An infectious gastroenteritis caused by strains of the bacterium, _Vibrio Cholerae_. Travels primarily through human excrements. Typhoid works too, but death is usually due to encephalitis and intestinal perforation instead of hypertensive blood pressure.

There was a moment of awkward silence, followed by the sloshing sounds of the team working their way through the water.

"Uh. Wow, captain. That was quite a mouthful. You mind telling us how you know all that…stuff?" Forest said abruptly.

"None of your goddamn business, Forest. Now shut up and focus on walking," Wesker muttered in reply. Inwardly, he cursed himself for momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to be a simple police captain, and not a bioweapon researcher working for a pharmaceutical corporation bent on taking over the world.

"Jill…are there really…things inside there?" Rebecca squeaked, staring down at her feet. Jill sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry about it Rebecca. They're invisible anyway…"

"Invisible?!" the young medic shrieked, her eyes widening. Jill flinched.

"No, well, yes, but…what I mean is…" the older women stammered.

"What she means it that they only travel through contaminated food or water," Wesker interrupted once again, smirking. "Meaning, you don't have to worry about anything as long as you keep your mouth shut so that nothing…floats in." Rebecca gave a little squeak of surprise before quickly clamping her mouth shut with her hands. _Now why didn't I think of that earlier?_ Wesker thought to himself, mentally congratulating himself for his moment of brilliance.

"Hey, I hate to butt in guys, but I think I saw something move over there," Joseph said suddenly, breaking out of his unusual reticence. "It looked like some type of animal. Like a raccoon or something." He pointed his flashlight over at a shadowed corner of the wall.

"You're probably just imagining things," Forest grumbled, without bothering to glance at the spot. "Isn't hallucinations a sign of brain damage?"

"Chris, are we almost there yet? We've been walking for almost ten minutes already," Jill called out, ignoring the other conversation.

There was a shuffling sound from the front of the line as Chris yanked out his map once again.

"Hold on," he answered, shining the light over the piece of paper. "We should be right…here. So that means we're pretty much right under the mall at this point. There should be a ladder leading up to the garage level. It shouldn't be too far away…"

Chris stuffed his map back into his vest pocket and continued forward into the darkness. The rest of the team, eager to depart the odorous maze, followed their team member close behind, occasionally treading on each other heels. So focused on their hurried march, they failed to notices a black form dart past their legs.

Suddenly, Chris gave a yelp of a surprise, and fell over, flat on his face. The next few seconds were absolute chaos for the team as Wesker tripped over Chris's body and went down as well. Seeing the two officers in front of him suddenly disappear from sight, Barry gave a panicked shout, yanked out his magnum, and fired it once into the darkness. Rebecca, hearing the gun fire, did nothing save stand rigidly in the middle of the path and scream in a frequency that was previously unknown to mankind. While this was happening, Forest threw himself to one side and attempted dig a hole through the wall while Jill yelled out in genuine pain, falling to her knees and covering her ears with their hands. Hearing the commotion, Frost gave a pitiful battle cry before sending a spray of bullets passed Rebecca and down the tunnel, narrowly missing Barry.

"They're behind us!" cried Barry, convinced that the enemy way attacking. He spun around to shoot, only to slip on something in the water and fall over on top of the cowering Forest.

"What's happening? What's happening?" Wesker screamed. Having managed to untangle himself from Chris, he stood up, only to be forced to duck again as Joseph's bullets clipped his combat vest.

"Captain! The enemy is attacking," Joseph yelled back.

"What enemy?" Wesker roared, flinching as another bullet whizzed past him. "And for god's sake, stop firing that fucking gun, you imbecile!"

The cackling of the assault rifle died down to a sudden stop.

"Captain? Is that you?" Frost asked, squinting into the darkness.

"YES, it's me, you idiot," Wesker snarled, as he groped around for the flashlight he had dropped. "Goddamnit. I can't see a fucking thing in here."

"That's probably because you have your sunglasses on, sir," Rebecca said meekly from where she was standing. Wesker merely turned around and glared at her. Or what he thought was her. It _was_ really dark in there after all.

"I'm really sorry, captain, I couldn't make you out in the dark. Do you need any help finding that light…?" Joseph suggested, taking a few steps forward.

"Get the fuck away from me, before I lose my patience and murder you, Frost," Wesker growled, finally extracting the dripping flashlight from water. "Chris, what the hell happened?"

"Mmph. I tripped over something," came a muffled reply from beneath him.

"Well, then, get the hell up and lets go," the captain said, his impatience evident.

"Uh…captain…I think there's something furry on my chest," Chris answered.

There was a click as the S.T.A.R.S captain turned on his light and shined it down towards the water. Chris, who was lying face up in the cloudy sewage waste, winced at the sudden illumination and held up a hand to shield his eyes. The movement however, disturbed the form attached to his chest, which suddenly stood up, back arched and hair raised to a point, and hissing venomously at the humans around it.

* * *

"Joseph….," Wesker whispered dangerously. "You better pray to God that you have a good explanation for this, or else, I swear, someone will have to fish your mutilated body out of this god forsaken place."

"How should I know how the cat got in here?" Frost answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe he followed us or something…" He looked around at the rest of the team for support, but they all seemed to have taken a sudden interest in invisible cracks on the sewer walls.

"We can discuss this later, like, after the mission," Chris said quickly, sensing that the fuming captain was about to turn very violent. Wringing out the soggy map, he wrinkled his nose in disgust as a flood of dirty liquid splattered to the ground. He gave it a few good shakes, flattened it out on the wall and examined the diagram. Behind him, Jill was cradling Wesker (the cat) in her arms, attempting to soothe it.

"How far until the mall?" Wesker said through clenched teeth, without taking his eyes off of Joseph.

"Uh, it should be just up ahead. In fact…" Taking his flashlight, he shone it down the tunnel. "I think that thing over there is the ladder leading up the building." The rest of the team traced the beam of light to an elevated concrete slab protruding out from the sewer wall. On top of it stood a rusty ladder that led up to an open metal trap door on the ceiling.

"Hallelujah," Forest muttered under his breath, throwing his arms up in mock happiness. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get out of this place." The marksmen began to walk forward towards the structure, followed by the other S.T.A.R.S members.

"Uh…Captain? Should I bring…Wesker along?" Jill asked hesitantly, pointing toward the animal in her arms.

"First of all, stop calling it that," the human Wesker snapped back. "Second of all…"

He was about to answer her question when Forest suddenly stopped mid-step and held up a hand.

"Shhh! Quiet. Did you hear something?" he whispered, peering into the darkness beyond the ladder.

"I'm sure you're just hearing thin-" Barry started, but he stopped as well as a quiet splashing sound came echoing down the tunnel.

"Do you hear that?" Jill said in a hushed voice, pointing her gun shakily toward the darkness. "It sounds like someone is...moaning."

Wesker mind was racing the moment the whole commotion had begun. The noise sounded familiar, _so familiar_, yet he couldn't put his finger on it. However, the sound has stirred a deep, buried feeling of disgust inside him, so strong and nauseating that he couldn't help but lift his assualt rifle a bit higher and hold it protectively towards him. His feet told him that it was time to leave, yet his body refused to move and stayed stubbornly rooted at the spot.

The moaning sound began to get louder, and he could barely make out a figure shambling towards them in the darkness. Perhaps it had been the appearance of the mysterious form, but whatever the reason, the S.T.A.R.S captain suddenly snapped out of his idleness and began to take action.

"Chris, Forest, cover the ladder. The rest of you, head on up, now!" he ordered, hurrying over to the platform. The moaning was definitely getting louder, and an unexplainable sense of urgency gripped the entire team. Jill and Rebecca were the first to scramble to the rusty piece of metal, slipping on the moist rungs as they clambered upwards. Following their leader's orders, Chris and Forest had taken position in front of the platform and both were pointing their rifles, mounted with lights, toward the rapidly enlarging figure in the distance.

As Wesker hurriedly shoved Barry onto the ladder, a sudden wave of remembrance snapped through his mind and he stopped abruptly, letting go of the other man. That noise. He remembered it now. It reminded him distinctively of Spencer mansion…of late nights in the lab peering into microscope after microscope…of endless hours observing blood samples and skin fragments…of days arguing with William on how to proceed with the next step. He didn't stop to think, didn't stop to question on how any of this could be happening. The images flashed through his mind in a heartbeat, and in the next he was lunging forward toward Chris and Forest, rifle held up and finger twitching on the trigger.

"GET BACK! GET BACK!" the captain screamed at the two men in front of him. Forest turned around in confusion, only to be grabbed by the blond man and shoved roughly toward the ladder. A second later, Wesker had his rifle held up and sent a burst of fire into the figure's midsection, sending it staggering backwards. _Damn shades!_ he cursed to himself, as he aimed once more, this time targeting the creature's head.

"Captain! What-" Chris gasped, surprised that the his superior was firing without even confirming that it was an enemy presence. However, the S.T.A.R.S captain ignored his baffled teammate and instead, squinted carefully at the shadowed figure and squeezed the trigger once. Its head exploded in a puff of crimson spray and the rest of the body crumbled to the ground without a sound.

Wesker relaxed his grip and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when another moan from beyond the darkness caused him to stiffen up once again. Yet another stumbling humanoid shadow emerged from the tunnel and stepped over its comrade's body without a hint of hesitation. In the dim illumination of the two men's flashlights, the creature seemed to be dressed in a tattered business suit and had its arms stretched out in front of its body as it walked, slowly but steadily, toward the platform.

"SHIT!" Wesker snarled, taking a quick glance behind him. The rest of the team was still scrambling up the ladder and he estimated that the figure would still reach them before they could hurry out of harm's way. Wesker smiled sardonically to himself as he turned back toward the B.O.W. To think that his very own creation was now attempting to kill him.

"Uh…Captain. I think there's another one," Chris cried out in panic, pointing at yet another shambling person emerging from behind the suited one. "What should we do?!"

"Aim for the heads, just_ fucking_ aim for the head!" the captain screeched, feeling a wave of cold fear prickle up his back. He suddenly remembered a scientist (Bob? Or was it Bill?) back at the mansion, who had accidently locked himself in with the very creatures they had been studying. Wesker shuddered as he recalled what had been left of the poor man. He had been in charge of contacting his family, who, unfortunately, were led to believe that he had been ripped apart by the roaming bears during a picnic in the forest.

There was a squelching sound as Chris' bullets ripped through the first creature's leg. It fell down to one knee, but stumbled back to its feet a moment later.

"Damn it!" Wesker swore to himself, as he thought about Bob's (or Bill's) tattered remains spread out on the lab floor, his right arm in one corner, his left leg in another. They had to get out of there, _now_. "Fall back! Chris, get the fuck up the ladder right now. Hurry!" He took aim and sent another burst into the creature's chest, causing it to fall backwards onto its companion. Wesker spun around on his heels and grabbed the first rung of the ladder, ready to haul himself up after Chris, but stopped when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye.

It was the cat, which Jill must have dropped on her way up to safety.

The team's mascot sat, startled and confused, in the middle of the path, unaware of the approaching B.O.W.'s behind it. Wesker wasn't sure what caused him to leap off the ladder and lunge toward the tunnel. He hadn't made any decision to do so, after all, he was now heading _towards_ two, rotting corpses intent on making him their lunch, yet here he was, attempting to save a _fucking_ animal (one that he didn't like all that much) from incoming danger. He half slipped, half clambered his way toward the cat and was about to snatch it up by the scruff of its neck, when he was suddenly aware that the ground wasn't where it used to be.

One second he was running on solid, unmoving concrete, and in the next he was flailing his limbs in midair. He was falling, he knew that much, and the last thing he felt was something furry brush past his hand as he headed downward into the emptiness.

* * *

"Captain!" Chris screamed, halfway up the ladder as he watched the blond man running toward the cat. He was scrambling back down, intent on giving his superior some cover, when a horrifying cracking noise filled the tunnel and the ground beneath Wesker crumbled away into a gaping hole. Chris didn't have time to react before the water flooded forward, sucked violently into the excavation that had appeared in the sewer tunnel. The water overflowed the platform, and the S.T.A.R.S officer would have been swept away with the liquid if Joseph had not reached down, grabbed him roughly by the wrist and hauled him up and away from the roaring water.

Captain!" Chris yelled again, staring alarmingly at the spot Wesker had been just moments before. The area was now filled with foaming sewage waste as water from both sides of the tunnel hurtled down into hole.

"Forget about him for now, Chris!" Forest hollered from the open trap door above. "Just get the fuck out of there before you get pulled in along with him." Chris took one more panicked glance back at the spot before nodding in agreement.

"What happened?" Barry asked the minute the other man clambered, soaking wet, out of the trap door.

"I don't know," Chris gasped back, rolling out onto the ground. They were in some type of storage room under the mall and a dim, old light bulb was casting creepy shadows around the room. In the corner he spotted a few tattered mops and buckets and a thick, metal pipe ran across the middle of room, most likely ending up in the sewer below them.

"Wesker jumped back for the cat, and then…the sewer must have been old and falling apart or something, but there was this loud cracking sound and the ground fell apart beneath him," Chris answered, standing up. The rest of the team was huddled around him, obviously bursting with questions.

"Well?" asked Rebecca.

"Well, what?"

"Well, what happened to the captain?"

"I told you, I DON'T KNOW. He just fell into the hole or something. All the water started flooding in so I couldn't tell what happened," Chris snapped back.

"I'm sure the captain is alright," Jill said reassuringly, as she headed toward the lone door in the room. "What's more important is that we get the mission done. There's nothing we can do about him right now, and I think he'd want us to finish what we started."

Forest nodded sagely in agreement. "Damn right. _I _ain't going back in there to get that son of a bitch. Especially with all those crazy bastards we saw swimming around."

"You mean those people?" Barry said in a hushed voice. "They kinda looked like they were on drugs or something. You know, the way they were moaning and clawing."

"Actually, they reminded me a bit of those…those things. What do you call them?" Joseph asked, snapping his fingers. "Those things, in the Romero movies, you know…?"

"Uh…zombies?" Forest replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Yah! That's right! They reminded me of zombies."

"Joseph!" Jill admonished, folding her hands across her chest. "This is not time to be making jokes. Our commanding officer may be dead right now, and you're here running you're stupid mouth off!"

"But…"

"And I thought you were more respectful, Frost," Barry said as he followed Jill towards the door.

"No one understands me," Joseph sighed, staring down at his feet.

"Ha! Zombies…" Forest scoffed, elbowing the other man. "Right...and I suppose you'd be one of those characters that get killed even before the real plot starts."

"Hey, that's not true," Joseph countered back. "I'm not that useless am I?" Rebecca stifled a laugh at this comment.

"Well, guess what Forest? I bet you'd be one of those characters that die off screen simply to show the gravity of the situation," Joseph snapped, glaring at the marksman from the corner of his eye.

"In your dreams…" Forest drawled, ignoring the other man and following the rest of the team towards the door. The door had already been slightly ajar when the team had come in from the sewers, and Jill carefully nudged it open. It was pitch black outside and the smell of car engines and gasoline was immediately noticeable.

"This must be the parking garage," Barry whispered softly as the team headed into the darkness. "Why is it so dark? Someone get the light switch."

"Hang on," Chris called out from the right. "I think I've got it right here…"

There was a click and the garage was suddenly illuminated with bright florescent lights. The parking spaces were mostly empty, save for a few cars here and there and stone columns spaced periodically around the area. However, the S.T.A.R.S. team didn't notice any of these details, as they faced a much more immediate and dangerous threat.

A group of black-clad men in balaclavas had surrounded the entrance of the storage room. The one in front cocked his assault rifle, and aimed it directly at Chris. He then wrinkled his nose and raised an eyebrow.

"Holy fuck. You pigs really _do_ smell awful," the man said, smirking at the captured team.

* * *

So, here we go! Another long chapter. Hopefully I'm not boring/confusing people with the whole Ritchie and Savage thing. I'm attempting to fatten out my villains. I also feel that I'm getting less humorous. Unfortunately, I'm not good enough to be able to meld plot advancement and humor into one homogenous piece.

On a side note, RE5 is really, really awesome. However, every time I get to a cut scene featuring Wesker, I feel really ambivalent. On one hand, I'm excited 'cause he's so friggin' badass, and yet on the other hand, I feel kind of annoyed knowing that he isn't going to last long. And is it just me, or does Chris _still_ look kind of like a gorilla? I don't understand how they can Sheva to look so pretty and perfect, and yet have the male protagonist look like some type of primate. What's up with that, huh?

Review please! Reviews always make me feel happy inside. 3


	5. Sneaking

It seems to take me 5+ pages of writing until my humor glands start secreting creativity. All the comedy seems to happen near the end of each chapter. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews guys. To quote Ronald McDonald, "I'm lovin' it!"

* * *

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 5: Sneaking

_So much for having my life flash before my eyes,_ Wesker thought to himself as he fell, his mind racing when he realized that his existence on Earth was about to be abruptly cut short. Strangely, he felt neither panic nor fear, but instead, he felt only an intense regret that he wouldn't be able to finish all the work he had started. _I shouldn't have gone for the damn cat_. _How could you make such a stupid mistake, Albert? How could you have let all those years of research and work go to waste-_

_SMACK!_

It took Wesker a split second to realize that he had hit something painfully hard before a cold, clammy wetness rushed over his body. When he opened his mouth to take a breath, a wave of liquid entered his lungs, causing him to convulse and choke in panic.

_Is this hell? _he thought to himself as he attempted, again, to take another lungful of much needed oxygen. _'Cause if it is, it's awfully similar to drowning… _

Flailing his arms around wildly, he realized that he was still holding his assault rifle in his right hand and that it had been pulling him down. Reluctantly, he let go of the weapon and kicked with all his strength, heading upwards toward the surface. Bright blobs of lights danced before his eyes as he swam and his head whirled nauseatingly from the lack of air. Just when he thought that his lungs would explode and his strength would give out, the wetness parted and he found himself treading in an indefinable mass of water.

It was pitch black. The only reason Wesker knew that he wasn't still underwater was the fact that his desperate gasping was awarded with lungfuls of sweet, cool air. Reaching out an arm in an arbitrary direction, he heard a clang as it made contact with something cold and half submerged in the water. Immediately, he threw his exhausted body over the object and clung on for dear life.

The S.T.A.R.S. captain almost let go in surprise when he suddenly heard a tremendous splash to his left and felt a spray of cold liquid over his face. He stared blindly into the direction of the sound, straining his eyes in the darkness in hopes of seeing what had fallen. Fear squeezed his heart a moment later when he realized that it must have been one of the B.O.W.'s, who had, without doubt, accompanied his downward descent into the hole.

It took Wesker a few minutes to calm himself down after his near miss with death. Nevertheless, his heart seemed inclined to continue slamming against his ribcage like a jackhammer despite the fact that for the most part, the danger seemed to have passed. After taking several deep breaths, he lifted a hand out of the water to rub the liquid away from his eyes and cursed out loud upon realizing that he had just lost his sunglasses.

"Dammnit!" he swore hoarsely, running his hand angrily over his face. "And I had _just_ gotten those Ray-Bans's last week!"

As if the anger had fueled his will to survive, the S.T.A.R.S. captain began to cautiously feel around his immediate area. The object that he had been clinging on to seemed to a large metal pipe and was so thick that a fully grown man would not have been able to encircle it with his arms. Behind him, he could hear a steady trickling of water. It sounded like one of those zen waterfalls he had seen once or twice in fancy Japanese restaurants, and the gentle splashing seemed almost calming despite the dreary environment. Wesker didn't dare venture out any further into the blackness, not without any light source to guide him. There was something about the darkness that unnerved him, and that was saying a lot, after all, the former Umbrella scientist had seen the most gruesome and horrifying side of Mother Nature possible. Any normal civilian would have been scared shitless at the sight of some of the creations he had encountered.

"If only I had some sort of light…" Wesker muttered wishfully, squinting once again into the darkness. If only he hadn't dropped his flashlight…maybe then he'd be able to find some way out of this godforsaken place.

For the second time in the last ten minutes, the blond man nearly jumped out of the water in surprise when a light suddenly flashed on, banishing the darkness in a blink of an eye. Yelping in shock, Wesker shielded his eyes with an arm to fend off the temporary blindness that had accompanied the unexpected illumination.

"What the hell?" he gasped staring up toward the light as his pupils began to adjust to the change. Through his watery vision, he realized that the light had come from an old railroad lamp hanging from the ceiling. The radiance it gave off was actually a very dull yellow, and it flickered sporadically as it swung eerily from side to side. At a closer inspection, Wesker's surprised expression quickly darkened into one of annoyance, as his eyes focused on what was curled up on top of the old lantern.

"_You_!" he spat, glaring up at the familiar feline sitting calmly on the swinging lamp. "Get down here, you fucking cat and I'll rip you into pieces with my bare hands. You _do_ know that this whole mess is all your fault?"

His words echoed strangely around the chamber as the cat stared silently back at him. After a moment's pause, Wesker sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead with one hand as he realized the stupidity of his words.

"Fuck," he grumbled. "And now I'm talking to animals. I must seriously be going insane."

The S.T.A.R.S captain twisted his neck around to examine his surroundings. Now that the light was on, he recognized that he was in a medium sized room, just slightly wider than the newly furnished S.T.A.R.S office back at the R.P.D. In the dim light, he could see an innumerable amount of pipes crisscrossing the space like an immense, metal spider web. Like he had guessed earlier, the object which he was grasping was a thick pipe that skewered the room straight through the middle. However, water had flooded the chamber up to the pipe itself, so Wesker had no way of knowing how deep the place was. All four walls were water-damaged and peeling and the metal work seemed worn and rusted.

_This must be a part of the old sewage_, he thought to himself as he turned around to get a glimpse of the whole place. _It probably flooded in when the newer system was built on top. _The trickling he had noticed earlier came from a steady stream of water that ran into the pool from above him. Straining his head upwards, he could barely make out a ragged hole where it entered. _And that must be where I fell through_, he thought with a frown as he realized how close he had been to death. If he had only dropped slightly to the left or right, he would have definitely hit one of those pipes with bone breaking accuracy.

A clanging sound caught his attention and the S.T.A.R.S captain turned to spot Wesker, the cat, leaping from the lantern and landing gracefully on one of the pipes. From there, the animal strutted daintily across the metal pathway and paused for an instance when it was right above its human counterpart. It regarded the homo sapien meticulously for a moment, before crouching, bounding across the empty space, and noiselessly touching down on top of Wesker's head.

"The hell-?!" the human Wesker sputtered as the cat curled comfortably down onto the blond tuft of hair. "Get the hell off you stupid animal!"

Snarling, Wesker tilted his head forehead in an attempt to slide the burden off the top of his noggin. As the cat fell forward, it gave a hiss of annoyance and decided to attach its claws firmly into the human's hair. Following the little scuffle (along with plenty of cursing and clawing), Wesker was left with a set of nasty scratches running down his face and an angry cat bristling in front of him.

"Damn cat," the blond man grumbled, gingerly touching the wounds on his face. He eyed the animal in front of him. "Ironic isn't it? Wesker and Wesker, stuck together, 30 feet underground, with no help in sight

The captain had a sudden insane urge to laugh, and he did. The noise bounced around the metal room before returning back to its source, now warped and ominous. Wesker smirked to himself as he stared at the animal across from him. It sat motionless and calmly in front of him, black fur glistening oddly in the golden light.

"How beautiful," he whispered softly. "Those yellow eyes. They're so…_magnificent_." Wesker gave another odd chuckle, causing the cat to warily back away from the human. Without warning, it suddenly spun around and leapt away into the darkness.

"I've got to find a way out of here," the human Wesker murmured to himself as he pulled himself a little higher onto the pipe. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the cat once more, scampering across a length of pipe to his left. Curiously, he followed its movements as it ran gracefully across the room, before stopping abruptly in front of a deteriorating, half-submerged ladder.

Wesker's eyes widened in surprise as he realized that the animal had just revealed a potential escape route. He followed the ladder's path up the wall, hoping to find an exit. Smiling in triumph, the man locked his eyes onto a rusty, round door embedded in the wall which had been previously unnoticed behind the myriad of pipes. The maintenance workers for must have used the door and ladder to enter the chamber back when it was devoid of water.

"I suppose I should thank you," Wesker said, glancing at the other Wesker, nonchalantly grooming itself besides the exit. "…but that doesn't me that I've forgiven all the trouble you've brought. The minute we get out of this damn place I'm sending you directly to the pound."

Ignoring the cat's smug countenance, the S.T.A.R.S. captain dived into the water and made his way towards his escape.

* * *

"Sorry, Chief Irons. But it seems that your unfortunate reputation _is_ going to go straight down the drain," Ritchie murmured to himself, smiling as he heard the satisfying crunch of the radio antennae under his combat boots. He could imagine the fat asshole's shocked face upon realizing that he had just lost contact with his "negotiator." Inwardly, the Umbrella employee was practically jumping with joy, after all, everything had gone just as planned. He had made his way up to the second level easily and met up with Savage's team without encountering any of the B.O.W.'s they had released in the garage level. _They better be up and swarming the ground floor before Umbrella arrives_, Ritchie thought, frowning slightly. He dismissed the worry with a wave of his hand and decided instead to focus on more…optimistic thoughts.

"I can't _wait_ to see the look on your face, Spencer, when you find out that your dear virus has been released," the dark haired man said out loud, smirking wickedly.

"Um…excuse me, sir?" came a voice from behind him.

"Yes?" Ritchie answered, turning around to face the newcomer with his signature smile. Dressed in full, black body armor and toting an Uzi in one hand, the hired mercenary was quite an intimidating sight. However, he seemed unsure of how to act in front of the white suited, smooth talking, business man.

"Savage told me to tell you, sir, that we've caught the S.T.A.R.S sneaking around in the basement level. He's going to interrogate them now."

"Already? And I thought they'd last longer."

"Uh…he also wanted to me to let you know that we've barricaded the escalators and all the stairways leading up to our floor, just like you instructed. The only way anyone can get up is through the elevators, and we have them heavily guarded, sir."

"Excellent work, soldier."

"Thank you, sir!" the henchman answered, saluting the other man. He then turned sharply and marched out the door, obviously relieved to be out of the awkward conversation.

"Savage chose his men well," Ritchie said to himself, after the door closed. "I'm surprised that they've still remained calm despite the sound of…_this_." The white suited man turned to face the rear where three large cages were placed near the back wall. Although each had a cloth hiding its contents, ferocious, garbled growls and barks could be heard easily from behind the veils.

"Hush, hush, my dears," Ritchie whispered softly. There was a diabolic grin plastered on his handsome features. "I'll let you all out in due time, don't you worry."

* * *

"Whatever you do, just…don't tell them anything!" Chris breathed harshly, craning his neck so he could address the rest of the team.

"Oh come on, Chris! What type of info could we possibly have that is worth risking our lives for?" Forest drawled back.

"Well, it's what they do in the movies anyway."

"Hey, assholes! Shut your mouths," snarled the guard. He prodded Chris in the chest with his rifle to emphasize his point.

The S.T.A.R.S had been escorted up to the second floor of the mall immediately after their capture. Currently, they sat in a row, backs against the wall and hands securely fastened behind them with plastic ties. A stack of weaponry that the terrorist group had stripped off of the team sat temptingly in the corner. However, three fully armed guards, all in black armor and ski masks, watched the captive group menacingly for any suspicious movements.

One of the terrorists eyed Jill lecherously and tauntingly smacked his lips at the female officer.

"Why you…," she rumbled back, twisting angrily at her restraints. The guard only laughed, turning away and whispered something to his partner.

"The moment I get loose, I'm gonna smack that guy so hard across the face he'll end up in the next state," Jill fumed.

"That's assuming we even get out alive," Joseph sighed beside her. He stared longingly at the glass ceiling above them. "I was _so_ looking forward to that Star Trek episode tonight."

A large sky roof loomed above them and the afternoon sun shone cheerfully through the glass. The mall itself was actually quite a work of architecture. A gaping hole in the center of the second floor allowed anyone on the top level to peer down at the stores below them, mezzanine-style; currently, several of the terrorists were positioned around the railings with their rifles held up and ready. In addition, there were two convenient, large escalators in the center that allowed shoppers to find their way to the upper level. However, they had been securely blocked with several sofas, refrigerators, and other heavy appliances from the furniture store directly ahead of them. Explosives were also periodically placed on the escalator stairs, ready to repel any incoming threat.

The amused guards abruptly sobered up when the swinging glass doors of the furniture shop suddenly opened.

A man strolled in, bringing with him an immediate atmosphere of apprehension and trepidation. All the mercenaries had suddenly become silent; most of them were either pretending to check their weapons or showily rearranging their gear. Chris snuck a glance at the stranger from the corner of his eye. He was tall, definitely over six feet, but he walked hunched over and it was hard to pinpoint his exact height. His hair was grayish, speckled with white and cut short and near the scalp. Age wise, he could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty. His eyes were strangely glassy and hollow, and were accompanied with a curved and hawk-like nose. There was a ragged scar near the top of his forehead that gave him the image of a grizzled, yet dangerous war veteran. His demeanor was completely devoid of emotion as he walked steadily toward the team.

"Savage, sir," one of the guards acknowledged quickly. "We found them in the parking lot. I think they got in through the sewers." He saluted stiffly but kept his eyes locked onto his boots in order to avoid the other man's eyes.

Savage did not reply. Instead he stood in front of the S.T.A.R.S and examined them wordlessly. His expressionless eyes locked onto each member for a few seconds before passing onto the next. Chris fidgeted nervously as he waited for someone to speak.

"Where's the captain?" Savage rasped, his voice hoarse and gravelly. Chris had a sudden mental image of sandpaper scratching against a chalkboard.

"What are you talking about?" Barry said. He attempted to look perplexed.

Savage only stared at him.

"I'm…I'm the captain," Chris stated hesitantly from the other side of the group. _If I can deceive the terrorists, Wesker might have a chance to either rescue us or call for back up_. He swallowed apprehensively. "_I'm_ the captain of the S.T.A.R.S."

"You?" the guard said incredulously, raising an eyebrow under his balaclava.

"Of course he is," Jill added, easily catching on to the act. "For sure. Can't you just _feel_ the leadership and courage oozing off of the guy?"

"Do I sense sarcasm?" Forest whispered to Barry under his breath. Jill promptly elbowed the marksman, eliciting a grunt of pain.

"You're a bit young to be a Special Forces captain…" the guard said, obviously unsatisfied.

"Well, you know, he's the_ best _there is," Jill said smoothly.

"You should see him with a handgun," Barry agreed.

"The guy's just incredible with close combat too," Joseph continued.

"He's like a super commando or something. _Completely_ amazing," Forest finished, stifling a laugh.

"That's enough!" Chris muttered under his breath, glaring at his team members. "Geez. I'm not _that _bad. I mean, I pretty good with the shotgun, right?"

"Chris, _everyone_ is good with a shotgun," Forest whispered back.

"I've heard that your captain wears sunglasses all the time. You don't seem to fit the description," Savage stated flatly. His gaze bored into Chris, but the S.T.A.R.S. officer stared back defiantly.

"Well, you must have heard wrong," Chris answered, laughing dryly. "Seriously, _no one_ wears sunglasses _all_ the time. That's just ridiculous."

There was a collective gasp from the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. team. Rebecca even glanced fearfully up and down the hallway, as if expecting Wesker to pop out with a mini-gun at any moment.

"I mean, it'd be so much of hassle," Chris continued steadily. "For one thing, you wouldn't be able to see anything. Your enemies could just turn off all the lights and shoot a rocket launcher at you for goodness sake, and you wouldn't even spot it coming. Whoever you heard that from must be an idiot."

Savage nodded agreeably, but a thin smile now crept over his hollow features. Chris grinned triumphantly, oblivious to the fact that the grizzled mercenary had something else up his sleeve.

"Very true, very true." he said. "But you know what? I've also heard that your captain is well into his thirties…and blond."

Chris gaped a bit as the gears in his head attempted to spin in double time.

"Um…well…I…eh…dyed my hair?"

"He got a facelift too," Rebecca added helpfully from her corner.

Without bothering to reply to the team, Savage turned to address the guard beside him.

"Gather some men and search the ground floor. If you see the captain, shoot him at the spot. Every second that he's alive is one more opportunity for him to cause us some trouble. I've heard that he's one….resourceful bastard, so stay alert." Savage said firmly. "Also, beware of the creatures. They should be up by now."

"Yes, sir!" The guard responded, before heading towards the elevators.

"What about them?" the second guard asked Savage, waving toward the captive S.T.A.R.S. team. "Should we kill them?"

"Maybe a later time," the man replied. "Who knows? They might come in handy sometime later."

"No fair," Chris complained as he watched the mercenaries go. "I could _swear _that Wesker's hair is brown sometimes." Barry nodded agreeably to this comment.

* * *

Wesker carefully eased the hallway door open and cautiously poked his head in to scan the area for any potential threat. _Nothing to the left….nothing to the right…alright._ _All clear._ Breathing a sigh of relief, he lowered his Glock to his side and stepped into the empty hallway.

So far, things had gone pretty smoothly for the S.T.A.R.S captain. The ladder down in the sewers had led to a narrow crawl space, and after a few uncomfortable minutes of creeping around on his hands and knees, Wesker had found himself in the basement level of the mall. Fortunately, the emergency stairway up to the ground floor was only a few feet away, saving him the trouble of blindly scouring around the parking garage in order to find another way up. Now that he was actually in the mall itself, all he had to do was find out where the S.T.A.R.S. were, locate the hostages, _save_ the hostages, defeat the terrorists, defuse the bombs, and finally, secure the mall. Easy as pie.

_If there's a God up there, he must really hate me_, Wesker thought to himself as he snuck down the hallway. Most of the lights were out, save for a few flickering bulbs here and there, and the darkness made him jumpier than usual. He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of danger lurking in the corners and kept one hand gripped tightly on his firearm.

Wesker took a quick peek back toward the doorway that he had come from. As he expected, the other Wesker was right behind him. The animal had been following him from a distance since the sewer and its soft footsteps were barely audible to the human's ears. Oddly enough, the cat's presence was somewhat comforting. At least Wesker knew that he wasn't the only thing alive in this place.

The hallway opened up into one of the larger lanes of the mall. Stores lined the pathway on either side and several of them had shattered windows and bullet holes lining the walls. The S.T.A.R.S. captain had been in the Raccoon City Mall a few times before, but only to accompany the team on their mandatory "group-bonding missions." Besides, he wasn't much of a shopping person and he had spent most of those sessions skulking behind Barry and feeling extremely out of place. Now he wished _had_ spent some more time in the place, since he had absolutely no idea where he was.

Wesker hesitated for a moment before entering the area. Its wideness meant less cover and more exposure, and he didn't want to be caught unprepared. However, the shimmering neon sign of the store to his immediate left drew his attention away from his worries.

A grin crept across his features as he read the flashing letters above the entrance: Sunglasses Hut. _Must be my lucky day, _the blond man thought as he took a quick glance of the area before sidling through the entrance.

Inside, the store was dark, much like the rest of the mall. One of the fluorescent lights in the glass displays was on, and its artificial light caused ominous shadows to surround the mannequin heads in the corner. However, none of this bothered the S.T.A.R.S. captain, who skipped elatedly up to the counter like a five year old in a candy shop. Behind him, Wesker the cat had made his way up to one of the wooden heads and pawed curiously at its stony countenance.

"It's not like they'll need these anymore," Wesker reasoned out loud as he regarded the eyewear. Nevertheless, the took another glance around to be sure that no one was looking before reaching in and removing a stylish pair. Placing them on, he strolled over to the mirrors and smiled contently at his reflection. Now he was complete.

The sound of footsteps echoed in from outside the shop. The captain froze in panic, hand automatically reaching for his gun at his side. _Clunk. Clunk._ The steps sounded like they were approaching. Wesker's training kicked in and he bolted around the counter and crouched behind one of the numerous sunglasses stands.

"…and so then my wife was like, 'Who the hell is this?'" came a voice from outside. "And she gave me that look, you know, the 'you're so screwed' look…"

"Really, man? What'd the bitch say?" a second voice replied. Wesker took a cautious peek over the counter. Two of the terrorists were loitering around in front of the Sunglasses Hut. One of them was sitting on the mall bench, smoking a cigarette and the other one was chattering enthusiastically beside him. He decorated his story with animated gesticulations, carelessly swinging his assault rifle around as he spoke.

"Well, first she points to the girl, and she tell her to 'get the fuck out,' and I'm like-"

_Clink._

There was a tinkling noise as one of the sunglasses slipped off the mannequin head and landed on the ground.

_Agh! Goddammit! That stupid, fucking cat. Shit, shit, shit…_Wesker thought to himself, sweating in suspense behind the counter.

"Oi, Wilkins. Did you hear that?" the man on the bench said. He stood up, lifting his submachine gun up threateningly.

"Yah, man. I did. Sounds like it came from the Sunglasses Hut."

Footsteps approached the S.T.A.R.S. captain's hiding place. Wesker leaned forward, one hand on the ground, and placed his weight on the balls of his feet as he readied himself for what was to come.

"Hey! There's something over here!" came a voice from directly above.

Wesker's heart clenched as he felt adrenaline rushing through his body. Gritting his teeth, he was just about to leap out when…

"Why, hello there, kitty."

"You must be kidding me. It was friggin' cat? C'mon Wilkins, leave the thing alone. Let's get out of here, before Savage radios in for an update."

Wesker had to clamp his mouth shut in order to prevent himself from breathing a sigh of relief as he slumped back down to the ground as quietly as he could.

"Aww, but it's so cute. It kinda looks like the one my girlfriend has."

"Stop acting like a fag, Wilkin, and let's get the fuck out of here before we meet any of those creatures. Savage said that they'd be up on the first floor by now."

"Well _I_ haven't seen any of those zom- FUCK!"

"What happened?"

"The cat, goddammit! It fucking bit me! Don't just stand there, you dumb shit. Get me a tissue or something. What if it had some type of disease?! Stupid fucking animal…"

In one smooth movement, Wesker stood up behind the counter and slammed the back of his fire arm straight into the first man's head. There was a dull thud, and he toppled over like a potato sack. The second man was crouched down a little further down the counter with his back facing the S.T.A.R.S. captain. He was holding one hand in the other, swearing profusely and attempting to kick the hissing animal in front of him. Wesker smiled. In his rage, he seemed completely oblivious to what had happened to his companion.

"Stupid cat," the terrorist snarled aiming another kick at the cat. "Hey Brunner? Didn't I tell you to get me a fucking tissue?"

He turned around…and found himself face to face with a pair of shiny, new sunglasses. Gaping at his reflection in the lens, he gaze went down to the gun that was jabbed into his chest. He jaw moved up and down in surprise, but no sound came out.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Wesker said with a devilish smile, before pulling the trigger.

Both Weskers watched passively as the man fell backward. He was dead before he had touched the ground. The cat gave Wesker a distasteful look, but the human only shrugged.

"I know it was cheesy, but I just couldn't turn down the opportunity," he reasoned. "I can't have clever one-liners all the time…"

Ignoring the animal, Wesker began to desperately search through the pockets of the terrorist's combat vest. He knew that the gun shot would attract any other guards in the area, so it was vital that he move fast. He found what he needed attached to the dead man's waist. It was a bulky cell phone, and old Japanese model that Wesker couldn't recognize. It didn't matter. As long as it worked, he would be content.

He held up the phone, ready to dial, when a sudden thought came to him. He had planned to alert Umbrella to the release of the T-Virus, yet a nagging hesitation kept him from punching in the numbers. As far as he could see, someone in Umbrella had to have betrayed the company in order to get the virus and cause the chaos in the mall. But in order to do something as dangerous as that, he would have had to be a high official, or at least someone with a lot of influence. Wesker had no idea how far the traitor's reach may be, so he knew he had to play it safe and get another, trusted, contact to alert Spencer…and he knew just the person.

* * *

The S.T.A.R.S. captain felt a bit stupid, standing in the middle of a darkened sunglasses store, leaning against the counter with a cell phone held up to his head as he waited for someone to pick up. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the glass and watched Wesker, the cat, who had taken to amuse itself by examining the body on the floor.

The phone rang once. Twice. Thrice.

"Hello?" came a sweet, childish voice from the other line. "Birkin family here."

"Sherry? Hi. This is…is…um...," Wesker paused a moment as he debated on how to introduce himself. "This is…Uncle Albert. May I speak to your father for a moment?"

"You know, my mother doesn't like it when you talk to my dad all the time," Sherry answered in a matter-of-fact way. Wesker subdued a growl of annoyance. He hated little children, mainly because they could be so obnoxious yet so smart at the same time.

"It'll only be a moment, Sherry. I need to talk to him about business. It's urgent."

She ignored his words completely.

"Mom's been like this since that one night she caught you and my dad at the bar…"

Wesker gaped. No way. Annette had told her daughter about _that _Friday night?!

"…and that she had found the two of you on the floor—"

"Now listen here," Wesker butted in, enunciating his words slowly and clearly. "I've told your mother a hundred times before that we were _very_ drunk that night, _very, very _drunk and I don't know if you know this, Sherry, but alcohol can cause men to do things they would never, ever do sober..."

"Well, Mom said that Dad pays too much attention to you, and that she's his wife, and that he should spend more time with her…"

Wesker held his face in his hand and let loose a long, annoyed breath of air.

"Sherry, listen. Just let me talk to your dad…"

"…and Mom says that she's never letting you two go out again, even if it's supposed to be 'work related'…"

"Sherry, I need to talk to Will _right now…_"

"…and Mom says that you're not right in the head and that our family shouldn't associate with you…"

"Well, you can go tell your mom to go FUCK HERSELF," Wesker roared into the phone, losing his patience completely. He immediately regretted his words as Sherry became silent and the sound of empty static filled the room.

"I apologize. I really didn't really mean that," Wesker added hurriedly. He could hear movement from the other end of the phone.

"Sherry, dear? Who's on the phone? Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?"

It was Annette. _Fuck. _He had the sudden urge to slam his head against the wall beside him.

"Hi mom. It's Uncle Albert. He wants to talk to Dad…"

_Don't say it…don't say it…don't say it…_Wesker thought to himself, crossing his fingers. _Please, please, God, don't let her say it…_

"…and he told me to tell you to go fuck yourself. Mom, what does 'fuck' mean?"

This time, Wesker really did slam his head against the wall. The cat cocked his head curiously at the human, observing the odd behavior from the ground. Shuffling noises came through the headpiece as the phone was, without doubt, being snatched away from the ten year old's hands.

"_You_," Annette snarled venomously. "Didn't I tell you not to call anymore?"

"Annette, I know you're still angry about the pub incident," Wesker said quickly, attempting to maneuver the conversation to safer grounds. "But you've got to understand. We were celebrating. That was the day we had finally gotten the virus to successfully infect the human subjects, and so Will and I and some of the other men just wanted to have a drink. To celebrate, you know."

"And I suppose your…'celebration' includes stripping down to your underwear with twenty bottles of whip cream laid out on the floor, along with some other things I shouldn't mention in front of my child, huh?" Annette answered sarcastically.

"We were _drunk_, Annette. Anyway, listen, I'm on a mission right now, and I need to talk to Will. Please, just, pass the phone to him. It'll only be a second."

"No."

"Please?"

"Absolutely not."

Wesker growled angrily in frustration, resisting the urge to throw the phone across the room.

"Hey, Annette? Who's on the phone?" came a faint, but familiar voice from the other line. "Is that Albert? Let me talk to him."

The blond man gave another sigh of relief as he heard the phone being passed around once again. After a minute of grappling and static noises, William's voice came back on the line, a bit breathless, but nonetheless, there.

"Al? Hey, sorry about that. Had to tackle her a bit to get the phone. So, what's up?"

"Listen, Will. I'm on a mission right now, in the Raccoon City Mall, and—"

"No wait, don't tell me," Birkin cut in. He sounded excited. "It's the new B.O.W. right? So, do you like it? I think it has great potential in the Nemesis program, if you ask me…"

Wesker's face wrinkled up in confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hey, if you don't like it, you could just tell me," Birkin replied dejectedly. "You don't have to act like it's not there. Sheesh."

"Will, listen. Forget about…whatever. You have to alert Umbrella. I think there's a traitor in Umbrella who's released the virus in the mall."

"Hello?" Birkin said, heavy static accompanying his words. "I can't hear you clearly, Al. The line's breaking up. Did you say you want to meet me in the hall_? _What hall? What do you mean?"

Wesker had to hold the phone a few inches away from his ear when he heard Annette shriek from the other line. Dear god. She sounded like Lisa Trevor sometimes.

"No, Annette, he did _not_ ask me on a date. What? No…it's not…just give me back the phone, ARGH!"

Apparently the couple was having a little scuffle.

"Hey Al? I'm gonna…to call…back. It…matter…line's breaking…anyway," Birkin stammered, his words interjected with more static and Annette's ferocious screams.

"No wait…"

There was a click and the line went dead.

"God damn it!" the blond man screamed slamming the cell phone down on the counter. Irons must be attempting to block the calls from outside the mall. He let out a frustrated noise and thudded his head down against the glass counter top. Right. So he couldn't alert Umbrella. Big deal.

"I can do this by myself, right?" Wesker said to the cat, who was watching him patiently from the floor. It gave him a dubious look, before standing up and walking out of the room.

"You're right. Who am I kidding?" the human said to himself, sighing deeply. "God damn it. Why does everything always happen to me?" He holstered his fire arm and clipped the cell phone to his belt before following the cat out of the store.

* * *

Author's Note: I finally finished RE5. It's a pretty amazing game, although I didn't think it was really scary at all. I went back to play Remake the other day, and the difference is overwhelming. As for Wesker, I dunno. I didn't really like the way he went out, mainly because he seems to go absolutely insane in the last…30 or so minutes. I still remember him in RE4 and UC, where he was the calm, scheming bastard. And then RE5 it's like, viola! Crazy, mastermind who want to purify the world like any other cliché villain. And honestly, I got a bit sick of his ranting near the end.

BTW, Wesker's hair color seems to change from game to game. In Remake, I swear it's like brown. And then in CV, it's blond. And then it's brown again in UC. And in RE5, it's blond once more. Sigh. Stupid inconsistent Capcom.

Last thing, I had an idea for a new story after finishing RE5, and I think I might start writing that out before it dies in my head. Yah, it's a terrible idea for me to write two stories at once, but…I'll give it a try. :P


	6. Seduction 101

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. Recently I've discovered that whenever I have free time, I end up asking myself, should I write another chapter, or should I play some more Mercenaries? Unfortunately, it usually ends up being the latter, so progress has been slow. Blame Capcom for making their game so damn addicting.

BTW, Thanks for the reviews. I truly appreciate them!

* * *

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 6: Seduction 101

Joseph was dreaming again.

Yup. Definitely a dream. After all, it's not every day that you find yourself standing in a hot steamy shower, facing a scantily-clad woman who would have felt right at home on any adult film set. Well, unless of course, you were Hugh Hefner.

_Okay, so I'm dreaming. But so what? Might as well make the best of it_, Joseph thought to himself. He let his eyes wander down to the female's garments, whose combined surface area could have fit on a single dinner plate. The babe purred and took a step forward, inadvertently causing Joseph's jeans to feel a few sizes too small.

"Oh, baby," he murmured, licking his lips nervously as she sauntered forwards, hips and legs swaying seductively. The woman stopped directly in front of him and gave him an inviting smile with her juicy, red lips. And then her mouth opened, thick lips stretching over pearl, white teeth and she said:

"For the love of God, Frost! Would you stop drooling on me?!"

Joseph gasped in surprise, and watched (in utter disappointment) as the alluring woman's image shimmered away until he was looking up at a stubbled, and _very _unfeminine chin.

"Would someone _please _explain to me how the hell you manage to take an afternoon nap while in the hands of a terrorist group that could potentially murder us all any second from now?" Chris Redfield's mouth said from its spot above the manly chin. Joseph grunted sleepily, only to have his head roughly shrugged away from its comfortable spot on Chris' shoulder.

"Chill out, Chris," he answered with a yawn. "There was a Star Trek marathon on last night. How was _I_ supposed to know that Raccoon City Mall was going to get overrun by terrorists?"

"The least you could do is help us think of a way to get out of here alive," Chris snarled, jerking his head at the rest of the team. The S.T.A.R.S. had been forced to sit idly in the hallway, still bound and guarded by two of Savage's mercenaries. The jailers had been examining a vending machine at the end of the hall. The first guard shuffled through his pockets before triumphantly procuring a crumpled five dollar bill. His companion let out an exasperated sigh and rudely pushed him aside. Raising the butt of his rifle, he shattered the glass display, reached in to pull out a Snickers bar, and waved it mockingly in front of the other man's nose.

"It's a good thing they don't seem so smart," Jill whispered as the team watched their exchange.

"So, how _are _we going to get out of here?" Joseph murmured groggily. He rubbed his gummy eyelids and shook his head a few times to clear out the cobwebs before glancing inquisitively at his teammates.

"I suppose we could find some way to distract them…" Barry said.

"…but how?" Chris added. "All our grenades and guns are in the corner over there, and I don't think we can reach them without acting extremely suspicious."

"Violence isn't the answer to everything, Chris," Jill said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure there's another way to do it."

Joseph absent-mindedly watched the rest of his team discuss their potential escape plans. His eyelids felt like they were about to fall off, and he was having a hard time staying awake. Gradually, he felt his mind drifting back to the dream he had been having before being rudely interrupted by Chris. Ah yes…he could still picture those smooth, long thighs and the hourglass body so vividly in his mind. He sighed dreamily. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to go back to sleep…

"Frost! Are you even paying attention?" Chris snapped from besides him. "This is a life and death situation you numb skull! Stop zoning out and help us think of a way to distract the guards." Joseph sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes to watch his companions debating on how to proceed.

"Distract the guards…huh?" he mumbled to himself. The image of the buxom woman lazily floated to the surface of his mind.

"…I suppose we could have Barry pretend to have a heart attack, but I don't think they'd stop to help…"

_The female. A man's worst temptation. Well, most men, at least_, Joseph thought to himself with a thoughtful nod.

"…well, I dunno Forest, there's always the risk that Rebecca would knock us out as well, since we'd be the closest to her…"

Distraction. Woman. Joseph put two and two together, and abruptly felt a light bulb flash on in his head.

"I've got it!" he cried out, snapping his finger from behind his back. (After all, the team had been cuffed with plastic ties.)

"What?" Jill said. She eyed him suspiciously, knowing full well that _any_ idea that Frost might had was probably incomprehensible.

"We could use _you!_"

"Joseph, what the hell are you blabbering on about?"

"You could do that thing…you know…that thing that women _do_ all the time. Distract the guards, you know?"

"No, I don't know, Joseph," Jill answered, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "I'd appreciate if you elaborated and said something that, for once, doesn't sound like verbal diarrhea.

"That _thing_!" Joseph said with a groan, glancing at the other S.T.A.R.S. member for help.

"I think he means…" Barry said hesitantly.

"Means what?" Jill said, furrowing her eyebrows.

"…I think he means your…eh…how should I put it…your…your _feminine wiles_."

"You want me to _seduce_ the guards?!" Jill gaped. She turned to Joseph and gave him a flabbergasted look.

"No. Absolutely not," Chris interjected from the front of the line. His face was turning a deep shade of purple and he looked angry enough to have steam come piping out of his ears.

"Oh, c'mon, Chris…" Forest drawled. "Don't be going all Alpha male on us here. Joseph's got a good idea. Besides, who else would you ask? Surely not Rebecca, I mean, she's _got _be underage."

"Unless they're into that kind of thing," Barry added with a shrug.

"Like you said, Chris. It's a matter of life and deat," Forest reasoned slowly, searching Chris's face for any sign of surrender. For a moment, Chris seemed ready to unleash an angry retort, but instead he only sighed deeply and stared dejectedly at the tiled mall floor.

"Now wait a minute," Jill said from the other side of the line. "I'm the one actually doing this, and you don't even bother to ask _me_ if it's okay?!"

"Jill, think of the hostages," Joseph said in his gravest voice. "Women, children…"

"I..."

"…hopelessly defenseless against these madmen…"

"Alright."

"…waiting, no, _praying_ for the police to deliver them from this horrifying....horror…"

"ALRIGHT! I get the point, Joseph. I'll do it!" Jill said. "The only problem is _how_? What exactly should I be doing?"

"Oh that's the easy part," he answered swiftly, his previous puppy-eye tone of voice mysteriously vanishing into thin air. "First thing first, you've got to pull back your shoulders. Yah, that's right. Stick your chest out."

"This feels awkward…" Jill said as she attempted to follow Joseph's instructions. "And what exactly is this supposed to achieve?"

"Well, to show off your…um…your…" Joseph said falteringly. Jill might have been his long time teammate, but he wasn't sure he wanted to say anything that might possibly offend the raging Amazon inside. His experience had taught him that messing with Jill was a really, _really_ bad idea. He still remembered his first day at the precinct, when he had "accidentally" brushed by Jill's backside. It wasn't _his_ fault. Honestly. His hand had just managed to…wander its way there. He hadn't told it to. No siree. But to his utter dismay, Jill didn't buy his excuse and Joseph spent his second day on the job in the medical room with an ice pack between the legs.

Next to Wesker, Jill Valentine was the definitely the last person he'd want to antagonize.

"My what?" Jill demanded, still attempting to arch her back a little more. It was doing its job, however, and Frost did his best to keep his eyes glued to his boots.

"Your…your…."

"Jugs?" Forest said helpfully. Unlike Joseph, he hadn't bothered averting his gaze. "Rack? Bust? Boobs?"

Jill gave the marksmen a glare that could have rivaled Medusa's.

"It's for the children," Forest reminded her quickly, before she could get physical.

"Okay. So, what else do I do, besides becoming a chiropractor's nightmare?" the female officer said, wiggling her shoulders and cracking her back a few times. The movement caused certain parts of her anatomy, specifically in the chest region, to jiggle around bit, and both Barry and Joseph snapped their heads so quickly in the other direction that Jill arched an eyebrow.

"Something down there?" she asked, peering down the corridor.

"No," Joseph and Barry said in unison. The two men's faces were identical shades of red and they both attempted to keep their eyes averted from their well-endowed teammate.

"Well, Frost? What else should I do?" she repeated.

"Uh…I dunno. Flutter your eyebrows a bit, and…eh…tilt your head a bit to the side."

"Is this good?" Jill asked, throwing her head back.

"You _bet_…," Forest said with a provocative whistle. Chris's scowl deepened exponentially.

"Hey guys! Better hurry up, the guards are coming back!" Rebecca whispered in warning. The two men, having finished raiding the poor vending machine, were cruising amiably down the hallway, candy bars and various snacks sticking precariously out of their pockets.

"Quick! Joseph, what do I say?" Jill hissed out of the side of her mouth as she got into position.

"Uh…just call him something. You know, get his attention!" Joseph whispered back. "…and think _sexy_!" he added as an afterthought.

* * *

"Man, I just fucking _love_ candy," the first guard was saying as he approached, holding a half eaten Milky Way in his right hand. He was a gigantic hulk of a man, with an absurdly square chin and beady, deep set eyes.

"…the chocolaty goodness on the outside, the creamy, sugary filling…I could eat this all day!" His companion, who was several times shorter and thinner, rolled his eyes in annoyance.

_Okay…okay…think sexy…think sexy…_, Jill reminded herself as they approached, her palms sweaty behind her back. She took a deep breath and mentally ran through Joseph's earlier instructions: shoulders back, chest forward, spine arched, head tilted…

"Would ya shut up!" the second guard growled. "I'm sick of putting up with your cra—"

"Hey there, hot stuff."

Jill cringed inwardly the moment she realized what she had just said. _Hot stuff? Where the hell did that come from?_

The skinnier guard swiveled around and raised both eyebrows in surprise.

"What?"

"I said…uh…um…tough luck!" Jill stammered, trying her best to improvise on the spot. "Erh…tough luck making us talk! We won't tell you anything!" From the corner of her eye, she could see Joseph droop his head and groan in dismay.

"What the hell are you blabbering about?" The shorter guard said, approaching the group with his Uzi raised threateningly. His pudgy companion quickly shoved the rest of the candy bar into his mouth, wiped his chocolate covered hands on his fatigues, and grabbed hold of his sub-machine gun as well.

"Uh…I…" Jill stuttered, struggling to find words to say. It felt like someone had furtively emptied the contents of her brain in the last few seconds. Hastily, she opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to her mind. "I…uh…think you're very handsome?"

Which was completely untrue. Now that she could see the guard's face up close, she would have preferred getting chased through Raccoon City by a one-eyed, snarling ten foot beast than have to go on a date with _this_ guy. Apparently being vertically challenged had given the guard a bad case of small man syndrome, and he had attempted to make up for his short stature by plastering an ever-constant sneer on his twisted face. It did little to make him look any tougher than before. On the other hand, he could have easily been a stunt double for Mr. Hyde.

"Are you making fun of me?!" the Mr. Hyde look-a-like snarled, defensive mechanisms locked and loaded.

"No, no! Of course not," Jill said quickly. She adjusted her sitting position so that she could curve her back a bit more. "Honest. You're _really_ good looking. Have you ever tried auditioning for Chippendales or something?"

_Liar, liar….pants on fire…_ She could hear Forest snort and swallow his laughter besides her. The guard stared at Jill very hard for several awkward minutes, frown deepening, as he tried to find any dishonesty in her face.

"Is there something in your eye?" the man said finally. The question caught Jill by surprise.

"What? No, I—"

"Just wondering. You were blinking a lot, that's all." The skinny terrorist gave her a crooked, clumsy smile. Jill stopped fluttering her eyelashes and instead, repressed the urge to shudder in horror. You know how smiling can sometimes brighten up people's faces? Well, this guy wasn't that type of person.

Jill took a quick glance to her left and saw both Joseph and Forest waggling their eyebrows at her and mouthing "seduce, seduce!" She turned back forward to stare at the Quasimodo clone. One look at his rotting teeth and deformed face made her gag in disgust. In addition, his breath smelled like a mix between a decomposing corpse and an onion eating skunk. She turned back towards Forest and Joseph, who were looking hopefully at her. A little further back she could spot Chris, who was so sullen, Jill wouldn't have been surprised to see a personal, miniature, rain cloud looming over his head.

_Screw this,_ she thought to herself, wincing once again when the guard exhaled. _I don't care if it's for the children, I am NOT going to do this._ _There has to be another way…_ She had to try a different approach.

"So, um…what's your name?" she said as casually as possible. It was pretty hard to do; after all, the man had the barrel of his gun pointed dangerously at her face.

"His name's Bruce," his large companion called out perkily in the background. Bruce shot him a nasty glare, before turning back to Jill.

"It's Bruce," he repeated with a smile (or at least an attempted smile.) Jill hastily cast her gaze away from his face him in fear of gaining some permanent eye damage.

"Bruce? That's…uh…quite a lovely name…" Jill said. Was her nose getting longer or was she just imagining it? "So…how exactly did you…uh…get this job?"

"Well, Savage busted my ass out of jail, so I thought I'd pay back the favor."

"I see."

Jill fidgeted uncomfortably as a few silent seconds ticked by. She needed to think of a way to get him _away_ from the group. She needed to distract him. Time for plan B.

"Well, Bruce…um…do you think I could, eh, head over to the bathroom? I really need to go, _really_ bad."

Bruce frowned hesitantly and he shared a glance with his candy-munching companion.

"I dunno, Savage said not to leave any of you guys here alone. I mean, you're pretty cute and all, but boss would skin us alive if anything happened…"

"Please? I won't try anything, promise. You could even stand outside the stall just to be sure." _Like hell you can_, Jill thought. _I'm gonna knock the living daylights out of you the minute we get out of sight…_

"Stand outside the stall?" Bruce eyes lightened up as a sudden thought came to him. His eyes wandered down to Jill's body, and he snickered under his breath. "Alright then, sounds fair."

"But, but, but…Bruce...," his companion whined. "Didn't Savage say…?"

"Shaddup Charlie, and watch over the rest of them," Bruce snapped. He grabbed Jill's arm and roughly hauled her up to her feet. "Let's go. You better thank me later." He grinned lewdly, displaying his crooked teeth and black gums. Jill flashed a rather thin, strained smile in return.

The mercenary dragged Jill off down the hallway and out into the mall, all the while speaking to her pleasantly about…well, whatever it is terrorists talk about. Jill didn't seem all that interested. Unknown to her captor, she had been holding her breath for quite a while, in fear of passing out from his lethally, noxious exhalations. From the back, the S.T.A.R.S. could see his wiry hand creeping around her waist and down toward her rear. In the corner, Chris seemed about ready to go into Hulk mode.

"Oh man," sighed Forest, watching the pair disappear into the distance. "He is _so_ dead…"

"Tell me about it," Joseph said besides him. "He's making the same mistake I did."

Rebecca turned towards Chris's corner and spotted his ever darkening face. She flashed him a reassuring smile. "Hey, don't worry Chris. Jill can take care of herself."

Chris gave a throaty growl and snarled something unintelligible in reply. The muscles on the left side of his face twitched dangerously, and both Barry and Joseph edged prudently away from their fuming neighbor.

"Okay, so we've got one guard out of the way," Forest said softly. He nodded towards the larger guard, who was fishing through his pockets for another chocolate bar. "…and one more to go. Then we can go for the weapons pile over there and blast our way out of here, John McClane style."

"How 're we gonna distract this one?" Barry asked. He watched as the hefty man daintily peeled back the foil of a new Snickers bar. He giggled in glee, before satisfactorily devouring the snack in two large gulps. He licked his chocolate covered finger clean before stuffing one pudgy hand back into his pocket for another bar.

Forest gave Barry a level look.

"Do you_ really_ have to ask, Barry?"

* * *

Savage strolled through the maze of sofas and beds, his pace steady and his demeanor as emotionless as ever. The furniture store stretched endlessly on either side, filled to the brink with a sea of cushions and wooden frames. Any newcomer would have needed a map and a heavy duty compass to traverse the jungle of furniture, but Savage already knew precisely where he was going. Kicking aside a misplaced metal stool, he squeezed his way through a makeshift aisle created by a redwood cabinet and a rusty, antique dresser. From there, he stepped over an overturned glass coffee table and reached a clearing in the middle of the store, where the furniture had been shifted aside to form an empty, carpeted expanse. An expensive, leather love seat had been placed in the center of the circle. Ritchie, his hair flawless as usual, was sprawled lazily on top of it, one hand twiddling idly with his cell phone.

"Ah, Savage!" he greeted, sitting up as he saw the grizzled mercenary approach. "You're just in time! I was about to call Umbrella to tell them about…our little 'situation.'"

"Perhaps you should wait," Savage replied. "My men have yet to find the S.T.A.R.S. captain. It seems he's been wandering around on the first floor."

"Not to worry," Ritchie said with a wave of his hand, his manicured fingernails glinting under the fluorescent lights. "The B.O.W.'s will find him eventually."

"So you really intend on alerting Umbrella?" Savage said with a frown.

"Of course I will. Spencer will be so shocked, he might have a heart attack then and there," Ritchie said with an insane giggle. "Imagine his reaction, Savage! To find out that the man he has ridiculed and proclaimed as a 'failure' has completely devastated the future of his company in the matter of hours. Ah, revenge would never taste so sweet!"

"At the expense of starting an apocalypse?" Savage rasped quietly, his voice barely audible. Ritchie shot him a dirty glare, but nonetheless, a flicker of hesitation flashed through his dark eyes.

"Don't you _dare _back out on me, Savage," he hissed threateningly. "Besides, the virus has already been released. It's only a matter of time before it gets out of the mall and into the city."

"Of course," Savage said, his face impassive. Ritchie muttered something under his breath and flipped open the cover to his phone. It was obvious that the mercenary's words had ruined his good mood, and he savagely punched in numbers as if he planned on skewering the electronic device with his index finger. He held the phone up to his ear.

"Umbrella Corporation Headquarters, how may I help you?" said a brisk female voice.

"Hello," Ritchie greeted. "This is Ritchie Stewart; can you connect me with Mr. Spencer?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Spencer is busy at the moment," the secretary said immediately. "However, I will be happy to redirect you to his representative—"

"Bullshit," Ritchie interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, bullshit. Spencer, busy? Give me a break, I know he's sitting in that fancy, little office of his in the floor above you, probably enjoying a martini or two. So stop dawdling and pass him the phone."

"Excuse me, sir. Let me rephrase my earlier remark," the secretary continued smoothly, unfazed by Ritchie's comments. However, her tone was sharper and more forceful than before. "Mr. Spencer does not take any business calls. If you wish to speak to someone, I'm afraid it'll have to be the repres— "

"Tell him it's a personal call then."

"Sir, I'm afraid that—"

"Listen! If you don't pass the fucking phone to Spencer, this whole company could go down in flames. No, on second thought, it _will_ go down in flames. I've got something here that I predict 'Mr.' Spencer would be awfully glad to know, considering the fact that it's probably going to decide the fate of Umbrella. I'm afraid this whole matter is way beyond that feeble, cubicle entrenched brain of yours, so connect me. NOW." Ritchie ordered, his face suddenly dark and purple with anger.

There was a moment of silence as the secretary debated her choices.

"Please hold, sir. Mr. Spencer should pick up right away," she said finally, a hint of agitation creeping into her professional voice.

"Thank you," Ritchie answered with a smile. The phone clicked and a few seconds of optimistic elevator music that reminded one of bunnies and rainbows played through the headpiece. A moment later, there came another click and a leathery voice floated out the other end.

"This is Spencer speaking."

"Why, hello there, Mr. Spencer!" Ritchie said, sarcasm oozing through his words. "This is your old buddy, Ritchie? Remember me?"

"Stewart." Spencer stated the name as if he was addressing a pile of feces lying on the sidewalk. "What do you want?"

Ritchie gave another little crazy chuckle before cupping his hand around the mouth piece as if whispering a secret into someone's ear.

"Guess what, Mr. Spencer? I've done something really bad. _Really _bad," he said with mock sincerity.

"Stop playing games, Ritchie. What is this all about?"

"I've stolen something of yours. Something beginning with a T…"

"T-Virus?"

"Oh, you're good at this. Have you been following the news, Mr. Spencer? I'll fill you in anyway. Apparently a group of 'terrorists' have taken Raccoon City Mall. And among these terrorists is a former Umbrella employee that isn't so happy with the way he's been treated," Ritchie said, spitting the last few words out through clenched teeth. His voice remained calm but a nerve twitched visibly on his forehead. "And it so _happens_, that this…Umbrella employee has something…something that I don't think you want the public to know about…"

"You've released the virus?" Spencer asked. Surprisingly, he sounded neither anxious nor upset. In fact, he asked the question almost curiously, as if he was having a pleasant table side conversation. His placid attitude only infuriated Ritchie, and the white suited man tightened his grip on the phone until his knuckles matched the color of his attire.

"Yes, I have. Umbrella's going down, Spencer, and there's nothing you can do about it. NOTHING!" Ritchie shouted, a deranged expression spreading across his face. Savage could see sheen of sweat gleaming off his forehead, and paired with a demented smile, his once-handsome appearance was now painful to look at.

"Hmm," Spencer grunted thoughtfully. He sounded no different than before. Perhaps even calmer. Ritchie gnashed his teeth in rage.

"Don't you get it, old man?! The virus has been released! Once it hits headlines, the hounds are going to start sniffing, and the scent trail is going to lead right up to your fucking front door, Spencer. There's no way out. You and Umbrella are finished!" Ritchie was breathing hard now, his chest heaving as if he had just been on a five mile run.

"Of course, of course," Spencer replied. Although Ritchie couldn't see his face, it was obvious that he was smiling.

"Aren't…aren't you afraid?" he stammered. His anger had been temporarily replaced with sudden bewilderment.

"Not really."

"Why?! I've completely ruined you and Umbrella!" Ritchie roared, one eye jerking uncontrollably in emotion. He grabbed the phone desperately with both hands, as if he was afraid it would sprout wings and fly out of his grasp. "WHY?!"

"Why, you ask?" Spencer said with a quiet chuckle, his voice as smooth as a newly paved road. "You said this was at Raccoon City, right?"

"Why does it matter?" Ritchie snapped impatiently.

"If my memory serves me right, that's where the S.T.A.R.S. are stationed, am I correct?"

Ritchie threw back his head and cackled triumphantly, relief flooding over his features. So this was what Spencer was getting at! How unfortunate for him…

"The S.T.A.R.S? I'm sorry to have to inform you, dear Spencer, but I've already captured them."

"Well…have you got their captain, by any chance?"

Ritchie stopped mid laugh, his jaw unhinging and dropping to the floor. What? How did he…how did he know? The man was so shocked he couldn't find the words to reply, and could only flap his tongue uselessly.

"I thought so," Spencer continued. "Do you want to know why I am not going to lose a wink of sleep over your 'oh-so-horrifying' scheme? It's because I know Albert Wesker is there."

"The S.T.A.R.S captain?"

"He's an Umbrella operative."

"So? He's just another one of your goddamn puppets!" Ritchie sneered

"However, unlike _you_, Ritchie, he's a puppet with potential beyond that of any other person in this company. He could accomplish your entire lifetime's worth of work in less than a month. Albert's the best of the best and there's no way a pathetic _failure _like you would stand a chance against him."

"W-what?" Ritchie stuttered. His face had lost all its color and had taken an unnatural waxy shine.

"He was always the most promising of the children…" Spencer added softly, more to himself than to Ritchie.

"No. No, no, NO…" Ritchie said, his voice picking up volume and speed as Spencer's words slowly began to sink in. "I'll show you, Spencer. I'll fucking show you! You say this…this…Albert Wesker is the best, eh? I'll kill him with my own fucking hands, and then you tell me who's the best, huh?!" The man was practically screaming on the top of his lungs by now, and he violently snatched a Desert Eagle that had been lying on an end table besides his leather seat. Savage watched in silence as Ritchie leapt out of the chair, and in a torrent of wrath, hurled his cell phone across the room. It burst into sparks as it collided with a nearby lamp and tumbled down to the ground.

Ritchie stood in the middle of the clearing, seething, his eyes still locked onto the flickering electronic device on the ground. Through the headpiece, Spencer's voice could still be heard amid the static.

"I'll send out…bio-containment team…anyway…clean up what's left…along with your dead body," the disembodied voice said coolly. There was a popping noise, and the cell phone spat smoke and more sparks out of either end. Ritchie, whose face was blotched in anger, stared down at the Desert Eagle in his right hand. He lifted it up to eye level, as if noticing it for the first time.

"I'm going down to the first floor," he spat. Reaching up with his left hand, he undid the safety of the firearm before letting it drop back down to his side. "I'm going to find that bastard and kill him. Don't do anything until I come back, you hear me, Savage?"

"Be reasonable, Ritchie," Savage said, taking a step toward the white suited man. "The S.T.A.R.S. captain is only _one _person, there's no way he can kill every single B.O.W. downstairs. Spencer knows that. He's just trying to push your buttons, and you're falling for it."

"I'm going downstairs." Ritchie repeated stiffly.

"Ritchie. Stop and _think _for a moment. The B.O.W.'s are down there as well, you'll just get yourself torn apart."

"You don't think I know how to handle those creatures?" the other man snarled back. "I'll be back in no time. Stop worrying."

"You know Spencer is still sending his bio-containment unit over. He's only trying to stall for time, and you're giving him exactly what he wants!"

"I said, _stop worrying_ and shut the fuck up!"

Savage gave his associate a long, calculating stare, his glassy eyes glinting under the flickering mall lights. Finally, he gave a resigned sigh and turned away. "Do as you wish."

Ritchie growled something from the back of his throat and reached over to the end table, grabbing two ammunition clips for his pistol and slipping them into the pocket of his suit. Without a word, he headed toward the glass double doors, viciously pushing aside furniture that was in his path. When he reached the doors, he slammed them open with such force that the glass panels broke and shattered to the floor.

"So childish…" Savage muttered to himself as he watched Ritchie leave. One of his henchmen, having heard the frightful noise, had come inside the store to investigate. Savage nodded to him and motioned him over.

"I want the hostages inside the furniture store. Move them near the back wall. Get any extra men to come inside as well," he ordered.

"We're making a stand here, sir?" the mercenary asked.

"Perhaps."

"Sorry to be nosy, sir, but where's he going?" the man asked, nudging an armored shoulder towards Ritchie's retreating figure.

"To his untimely death," Savage replied, indifferently. There was no trace of regret or pity in his words.

* * *

End note: Sorry, no Wesker this time. It's mainly because I have something….devious planned for him that's going to take an entire chapter to write, and I don't want to split it up. I've also decided to try for shorter chapters and faster updates instead of longer chapters and slower updates. I dunno. What do _you_ prefer?


	7. Navigating

Author's Note: I'm alive! Anyway, been a while since I've written. The story's getting less humorous and more action oriented. Looking back at the first few chapters, I realize that I've kind of morphed into a more realistic style. It might be influenced by my other story, which has a serious tone. *shrug*

* * *

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 7: Navigating

Wesker stared daggers at the map in front of his face. Turning his head to one side, he jabbed a gloved finger on the yellow star, located conveniently in one corner of the plastic screen and printed neatly with the words "you are here."

"I am here…," Wesker read out loud, squinting at the flickering sign through his sunglasses. Behind him, Wesker the cat was sitting patiently on the waxed floor.

"Here," Wesker repeated again, poking the star once more as if reassuring himself of its existence. "Now that means…if I go in this direction…" He dragged his finger to the left, into the adjacent rectangle. "And take a turn here – no wait. I take a turn _here_…"

Wesker paused and cocked his head in the other direction.

"…but that's a dead end. And where the hell are the stairs?!" he muttered, rubbing his chin vigorously. He took a step back to observe the mall map from afar, his eyes running over the countless color-coded blocks, neon squiggles, and swirly numbers plastered over the sign.

"God damn it," the captain spat out in frustration. "How the hell am I supposed to read this piece of shit?" The cat behind him watched with curious, widened eyes as the human aimed a kick at the sign board. It flickered dangerously under the abuse.

"I swear, whoever designed this friggin' building could give Trevor a run for his money," the human snarled.

From his spot on the tiled floor, the cat gave a quiet _meow_ that (to Wesker at least) sounded suspiciously like an exasperated sigh.

"What?!" he snapped, now directing his glare at the feline behind him. "You can't blame me. I'm not a fucking professional cartographer! And besides, Redfield's the one that usually works with the maps and compasses."

Wesker turned back towards the plastic sign and scratched his head (gently, of course, as to not disturb its carefully gelled shape.) Now, if only he could figure out a way to locate the S.T.A.R.S., this whole terrorist-stopping mission would be a lot simpler. _Damn you Irons_, Wesker thought to himself as he leaned in to inspect the map in greater detail. _I __told__ that cheap bastard that we needed some radios for the team…_

_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._

There were footsteps behind him. And by the sound of it, more than one person, too.

"Any sign of him?" a voice called out faintly from the direction of the noise.

"I swear I heard someone talking down there," another man replied, the sound increasing in magnitude as he honed in on the captain's location. "I think it was coming from over there, by that post…"

_Shit! __More__ merceneries? What do they have up there, an entire platoon? _Wesker thought desperately, glancing left and right for another place to hide. The Foot Locker to his right was still well lit despite the faltering power supply and was definitely not the best place to conceal oneself. However, the shop to his left was partially masked in darkness and the majority of its fluorescent lights were broken. A wasn't hard for him to make a decision.

Wesker took a deep breath, tightening up his muscles and willing his movements to be silent, before lunging out from behind the sign post and sprinting straight through the doorway and into the shop on his left. He landed in a smooth roll across the linoleum floor, boots squeaking conspicuously on the ground, before sliding to a stop between several rows of darkened clothes stands. At the same time, some remote part of his consciousness noted the black cat following him into the aisles.

"There!" one of the men yelled out, the second the blond had sprung into action. "Did you see that?" Sounds of scuffling feet and clanking metal followed the voice as the mercenaries approached the shop entrance.

Pulling himself to his feet, Wesker quickly took in his surroundings as his brain raced to find a place to hide.

The first thing he spotted was a rack of lace brassiere directly to his left. _No, _he thought to himself, quickly passing over the spot. _They're too transparent and won't provide much cover._ _Those bikinis on the next rack won't work either. But, those silk night gowns over by the counter, on the other hand…_

_ Wait. What? _

Wesker blinked several times, forcing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

For the first time since his entrance, he was suddenly aware that he was surrounded by racks and racks of white, black, and pink lingerie; most of which contained more holes than fabric. In fact, there were two curvy, feminine mannequins planted directly in front of him, each adorned with low necked, lace camisoles and shockingly revealing underpants.

_Where the hell…?_

"He dove into the Victoria's Secret, over on the left," cried an urgent voice from outside the doors. "Cover me! I'm going in!"

_Victoria's Secret?!_ Wesker thought, gaping in instinctively found his eyes drawn to the alluring full length posters on the walls, but quickly snapped them away. _No! Stop. Don't get distracted, Al. This is a life or death situation. You have to stay focused._

Hearing the footsteps closing in on the door, he scuffled quickly behind the two mannequins and crouched down. At the same time, he silently slid his pistol out of its holster, releasing the safety with a barely audible _click_. Once finished with his preparations, he carefully snuck a peek between the plastic calves of the mannequins, just in time to spot a heavily armed figure charge through the shop doors.

The mercenary hefted a menacing sub machine gun, which he held up in a readied position as he entered the room. Unlike the pair that Wesker had met earlier in the Sunglasses Hut, this man was noticeably more experienced. His eyes flashed left and right under his helmet as he walked slowly and quietly toward the center of the store. When a tinkling sound resounded from one corner of the room, and the mercenary whipped around in a blink of an eye, gun held up to his shoulder. He held the position for several, cautious seconds, motionless as a statue, before relaxing slightly and turning forward again.

It was then that he spotted the two mannequins in front of the center display stand. Wesker snapped his face away from his peek hole the second he saw the enemy's eyes lock onto his position. Heart pumping with adrenaline, the S.T.A.R.S captain held up his pistol, ready to fight.

_Stupid cat saved me the last time, but it won't happen again. I've got to pull it together or else…_

And then Wesker heard a sound that chilled him to the bone. It was a familiar sound, one he that brought back memories of his younger days at Arkley…and of the sewers where he had been separated from the S.T.A.R.S.

Upon hearing the moan, the mercenary gave a soft cry of surprise, turning to his left as the clothes racks in that direction suddenly began to shake and rattle. Wesker, out of shock and, perhaps, long forgotten training from his research days, found his body moving on its own. In a heartbeat, he leapt out from his hiding place, pistol held up in search for a decaying head to put a bullet in.

The mercenary had stopped staring dumbly at the racks, and instead, was firing into the aisles, causing bits of lace and silk to fly out in all directions. But it was obvious to Wesker that the man had never encountered a creature like this before. He aimed too low, near the torso and midriff level. It would barely do any lasting damage.

Seconds after the man opened fire, the zombie crashed out from behind the clothes, hands extended, mouth open wide……and with a bra hanging precariously off its head, one cup covering its eye like a large, pink eye patch. In addition, two ruffled baby dolls were draped over its gray body, and a tiny thong was wrapped around its bloody foot. If it had been any other situation, Wesker was sure he would have burst out laughing and the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

The victim of the undead creature, however, didn't find it such a laughing matter. Screaming shrilly, the mercenary stumbled backward, shooting another spray of bullets into the zombie's tattered stomach. It barely flinched and continued forward, its rotting hands brushing the surface of the mercenary's helmet.

Wesker stood by the plastic mannequins, watching in quiet disgust as the creature's fingers clamped down on its victims neck, turning the man's screams into desperate gurgles. Its teeth dug into the flesh and blood squirted grotesquely in all directions. But the S.T.A.R.S. captain knew he didn't have time to observe the poor man's fate. Turning away, he dashed toward the back of the store, bee-lining towards the glowing exit sign on the wall. He heard a bloodcurdling scream from behind him as he neared the door, but he didn't bother to turn around.

It's _probably just the poor man's partner, attempting to save his friend. How unfortunate for the pair…_Wesker thought, smiling to himself inwardly. The distraction had proved useful for the captain; he never would have been able to escape so easily if the creature had not so conveniently appeared.

"But of course, that would mean those zombies from the sewers have already made their way up to the mall," he said with a frown, as he threw himself through the emergency exit door and out into the subsequent hallway.

The slam of the closing door behind him echoed loudly through the corridor as Wesker slowed to a stop. Wincing at the noise, he held his breath and listened attentively for any enemies that may have heard the noise.

There wasn't a sound, save for the buzzing of the electrical light above him. The rest of the hall was shrouded in darkness. _The power to this area must have been cut, _he thought to himself, as he took a cautious step forward. Something shimmered in his peripheral view, and Wesker felt a sudden presence slip past his legs.

Unleashing a girlish yelp, the police captain (a very experienced one too, mind you) leapt to one side, slipped on the waxed floor, and fell flat on his back. In the process, however, he had managed to pull up his gun and proceeded to riddle the spot he had been standing on with bullet holes, all the while screaming in panic.

_Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap…_he swore to himself, in a state of frenzied hysteria. How could he be so careless? He could practically _feel _the cold, undead fingers wrapping around his leg, its snarling mouth drooling for human flesh as it pulled him closer and closer and closer—

The adrenaline induced panic melted away as soon as it came, and Wesker was left staring at a very shocked cat twitching behind the sights on his firearm.

"Jesus!" he gasped, lowering the still-smoking pistol. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that it hadn't been a zombie or to be scared, given that he had just alerted the entire mall of his exact location. "For fuck's sake, _do not_ sneak up on me like that. I was going to have fucking heart attack, you stupid animal." He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes in relief.

Although Wesker knew he _should_ be strangling the life out of that damn cat, he felt oddly comforted by the feline's familiar presence. At least now he knew there was something else alive with him down in this hell hole, even if it _was_ just a dumb beast. He began to get to his feet, his Glock still resting comfortably in his right hand. _I have to find the rest of S.T.A.R.S_, he was thinking to himself as he stood up and brushed the dirt off his uniform. _I have to find a way to locate the team…_

As Wesker turned back toward the darkened hallway, he was greeted with, yet another, heart-attack-inducing shock of the day. He found himself within bare inches of a twisted, rotten face.

"What the hell--" the blond exclaimed, taking a shocked step backwards. But his body acted on its own; his gun snapped up on reflex (aided by the waning adrenaline from earlier) and with a sickening splat, the zombie's head exploded in a mass of gray and red flesh.

He stared in amazement at the crumbling corpse for a good minute, before he took his first, shocked breath.

"The damn thing almost got me," he murmured to the cat, who had found a hiding spot behind his legs. "Where the hell did it come from?"

Wesker the cat stared up at him in an indifferent way, as if saying "how should I know?" before cautiously slinking out from behind his boots.

"Damn…" Wesker repeated slowly. His heart seemed to have lodged itself in his throat and was unwilling to remove itself. "I think I've had my fair share of surprises today." He rubbed his temples tiredly, before shoving the cat aside with one boot and edging carefully into the darkened hallway.

_Cats, bombs, terrorists, and now a full scale zombie outbreak? _He thought to himself as he disappeared into the darkness, the cat padding diligently behind his heels. Shaking his head in annoyance, he swore inwardly at his bad luck. How did he get himself stuck in such a mess? _Well, my main goal now should be locating the S.T.A.R.S. But how the fuck am I going to do that in a mall of this size…?_

As if some divine presence was attempting to recompensate the captain for his recent string of misfortunes, one of the fluorescent lights abruptly flickered on and illuminated a sign hanging on the wall.

_Security room,_ it read, with a bold arrow pointing further down into the bleak hallway.

"Security room?" Wesker questioned out loud. "That would mean…video feeds. Of the entire mall." Realization hit him suddenly like a sledgehammer.

The captain felt a grin spreading across his face. It would seem that lady luck seemed to be favoring him at the moment.

* * *

"Albert Wesker. Albert Wesker. Albert Wesker," Ritchie spat, repeating the name over and over as if it were a mantra. Passing a trash can, the he kicked it over with an inhumane snarl.

The white-suited man stormed down the main hallway of the mall, belligerently attacking any object that was in his way and flinging it aside with a kick or swipe of his hand. Ritchie's handsome face was covered in sweat and carried a tinge of reddish purple that darkened as the seconds ticked by. His fingers were gripped so tightly around his gun that the whites of his knuckles contrasted shockingly with his flushed face.

With an explosive yell he punted another trash can across the tiled floor, baring his teeth at the metal cylinder as it clanked and rolled away. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch. I'm gonna strangle him, wring out his life and watch the bastard squeal."

He continued down the hall, muttering crazily to himself as he walked.

"Who does he think he is? 'The best of the best' huh? Ritchie said in a false, sing-song voice. "I'll show him whose best! I'll fucking kill him, and then let's see what Spencer says." An image of the old man's bewildered face flickered into his mind, and he began to giggle uncontrollably.

"Kill him, that's the plan! Hehehe! Albert Wesker, dead. Hahaha…," he broke into insane laughter, his face distorted with emotion.

One of Ritchie's polished Oxfords kicked upon something soft and squishy in his path. Stopping, he looked down to see the half eaten body of one of Savage's mercenaries. The corpse's face was contorted into a horrifying expression of pain and a dismembered arm could be spotted a few feet away. Ritchie felt his humor disintegrating, and his laughter died down to a stuttering chuckle.

The sight of the dead body churned his stomach, but at the same time, brought a brief moment of clarity to his dwindling mind. He couldn't just blindly stalk through the mall searching for…for…_Wesker. _(The mere thought of the captain's name disgusted Ritchie and a brief wave of anger flooded through his nerves.) No. He had to play it smart, or else he'd end up zombie chow like the draining corpse at his feet. He needed a way to locate the captain quickly and safely, thereby reducing his chances of running into one of those monsters.

He looked up from the carcass, dark eyes sweeping over his surroundings. A place to locate a person in a mall. A place to locate…

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a mall map, splattered with blood, and facing the hallway. He turned his head slowly to face the object, eyes widening as an idea begin to formulate in his brain.

The mall blue prints. Yes, he remembered Savage showing them to him when they had been planning the operation. The mercenary had circled several key locations of the mall in red sharpie, as he laid out the plan. In fact, he specifically remembered one room, nestled discreetly behind the boxes and rectangles that represented the shops on the paper. It had been on the east side of the building, near the back end of the mall.

Ritchie stepped smoothly over the body on the ground, his pants brushing by the cold, dead skin. He had a deranged smile on his face that would have made the Cheshire cat envious. After all, he knew _exactly_ where he needed to go in order find the S.T.A.R.S. captain and execute his revenge.

With a giggle, the ex-Umbrella operative strode towards the direction of the mall's security room and its video feeds, the Desert Eagle still held firmly in the palm of his right hand.

* * *

Back at the second level of the mall, Savage was busy supervising his mercenaries as they barricaded the entrance of the furniture store. Standing by the doorway, his tall, gaunt features were imitating, to say the least, and none of the men dared to speak a word as they worked in silence. Several had dragged cabinets and bed stands to the opening and stacked them strategically so that nothing short of a bulldozer could get through the entrance without struggling. Two of his bomb experts were setting up explosives on either side of the hallway, and a few marksmen were positioning themselves by the balcony overlooking the bottom level of the mall.

One rather pasty looking man came sprinting down the hallway, skipping over the two bomb experts and skidding to a stop in front of his boss. He saluted sharply, before delivering his message.

"Savage, sir, should we go and get the hostages now? They're still up at the north end, with Charlie and Bruce." The mercenary couldn't help but notice the look in Savage's eyes. His naturally emotionless face seemed to be tinged with a slight sense of weariness, and the hired man couldn't help but feel a bit anxious about the whole situation.

Savage said nothing at first, but pulled up his wrist to take a glance at his watch.

"It's been almost fifteen minutes…," he said quietly to himself. Fifteen minutes since Ritchie had left, and fifteen minutes since Spencer had supposedly deployed his bio-containment team. Time was running out.

"Yes," he continued, looking up at his subordinate. "Radio Bruce and tell them to bring the S.T.A.R.S up. I want them on the far end of the store, and well guarded too. We'll use them as leverage when the time comes."

"Yes, sir!" the man replied, saluting once more. He began to turn and leave, but was stopped by Savage.

"Wait. Those crates we brought in before…the one's with the animals…"

"What about the crates, sir?"

Savage paused for a second, as if debating over an idea, but evidently made up his mind.

"Yes, the crates. I want you to get two other men and set the dogs loose in the lower levels."

"L-loose…sir?" the man stammered, his pasty face turning even paler. He didn't seem to sit well with the idea of handling the creatures Ritchie had brought in with him.

"Do it quickly," Savage replied, his voice hard.

"But sir, isn't Mr. Stewart down there?"

"Don't worry about him. He won't be coming back."

The mercenary bombed his head up and down, though a bit uncertainly.

"Understood, sir. I'll get to it right away."

Savage watched as the man headed away, before turning towards the railing to observe the lower level of the mall that stretched out below. The sky roof above him let in light that illuminated the open space and brightened the atmosphere, despite the broken power supply. Sighing, Savage closed his eyes briefly and cleared his mind.

He stood there for a minute, motionless.

Then he took a deep breath, before opening his eyes and heading back into the furniture store and sitting down on one of the wooden chairs. From one pocket he pulled out a combat knife and began to sharpen it with quick, forceful movements.

* * *

End note: The problem with me is that I'm the type of person with way too many hobbies. As a result, I switch between them in my limited free time, and end up not doing one thing or another. I haven't written for months, during which I've been focusing mostly on art, but it feels good to start again. Bear with me though, I feel a bit rusty.


	8. Confrontation

**A Cat Named Wesker**

Chapter 8: Confrontation

"…and so there was this time, Charlie and I were over at the mess hall when this big bastard, maybe seven foot something, comes lumbering along—hey, chick. You listenin'?"

Jill nodded hurriedly and flashed a tight grin. Hopefully the terrorist wouldn't notice that her lips were turning blue from lack of oxygen. But despite the fuzziness in her vision and the bursting pain in her lungs, she didn't dare open her mouth for even a tiny breath. At such close proximity, inhaling the man's exhalations was probably akin to getting a full blast of the most potent pepper spray currently available on market.

The terrorist (Bruce, was it?) yanked her roughly by the shoulders toward the women's restroom. It was just down the hall from where the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. were being held, and still within shouting distance.

_Damn it_, Jill thought to herself. She'd have to bear on with the asphyxiation until the pair was actually _inside_ the restroom, or else the noise of her beating the crap out of her captor might send the other guards running.

"Inside," the man commanded, throwing her bodily towards the swinging door like one would heft a bale of hay. Jill stumbled inside and leaned against a nearby sink, trying to regain her balance despite her immobile hands. The terrorist followed her into the tiled bathroom, slamming the door shut behind them.

Judging that the distance between her and Mr. "I-desperately-need-a-breath-mint" was significantly less suicidal than before, Jill opened her mouth to address him for the first time since their short walk to the restroom:

"Um…do you think you could untie me so I can go?" She nodded her head toward one of the stalls.

Bruce burst out in a torrent of hiccup-laden giggles, and Jill quickly positioned her nose towards the conveniently located air vent beside her.

"I'm not gonna fall for that trick, sweetie. I may not have Ivy-league education, but Bruce here isn't an idiot. You don't need your hands to go take a wiz. I could even help take off your pants if you need me to." The terrorist smiled leeringly, proudly presenting his teeth in all their rotten glory.

_Jesus_, Jill thought to herself, gagging. _It's like a dentist's worst nightmare._

"Um…I think I can manage," she mumbled, edging backwards into a nearby stall. She reached out with her bound hands to close the door, only to have Bruce shove a hairy arm out and stop it in mid-swing.

"Now wait a minute, here. You keep this door open, so I can…uh…make sure you don't try anything," he said.

"I can't go with you watching. C'mon sir, I won't try anything. I promise."

Bruce narrowed his beady eyes, obviously trying to consider whether being nice to a lady was worth missing out on a good chance to practice his voyeurism.

"If you let me go with the door closed, I'll do anything for you. Honestly, _anything_!" Jill said, pouting her lips and attempting to sound as persuasive as she could. Those community center acting lessons were really coming into use here.

"Anything, huh?" Bruce said with a smile, as ideas began to form in his head. "You better keep that promise then, sweetie. But no locking the door!" He shut the stall and took a sentry position right in front of it.

"As you wish," Jill mumbled under her breath. In one quick motion, she leapt up on top of the toilet seat. Then she turned, judging the distance between her and the heavily vandalized stall door. There was a rather atrocious heart drawn with red sharpie in the center of it.

"Perfect," Jill said with a devilish smile. She leapt forward, legs extended, and executed a perfect two-legged drop kick straight into the misshapen heart.

Her weight brought her through the door feet first, which slammed open on its hinges and hit Bruce with the strength of a swinging sledgehammer. He was on the floor before he could even choke out a surprised swear.

Jill scrambled up from the ground before the man had the time to recover and kicked him savagely in the head with one heavy police-issued boot. He gave a long groan, attempted stand up again, but was knocked back down with another kick. This time he fell limply to the dirty tiles, eyes rolling back into his head.

"Lecherous asshole," she spat, giving him another blow for good measure. "Learn to brush your teeth."

When she was sure the terrorist was out cold, she kneeled down and awkwardly shuffled through the man's military vest until her fingers closed around a combat knife near his shoulder. She yanked it out of its sheath, and with the help of her teeth, cut the plastic bonds around her wrists. With both hands free, Jill swept up Charlie's submachine gun, and began heading towards the door.

She had one hand on the metal handle when the radio on the downed terrorist crackled to life.

"Bruce. Do you copy….Bruce!" came a voice, in between heavy bursts of static.

Jill stared wide eyed at the immobile body, like a seven year old accidently walking in on her parents in the bedroom.

"Damn…signal…," the radio spat. "Get the S.T.A.R.S.…furniture store…with the rest…hostages…." The sound died abruptly after a few pitiful crackles.

Jill breathed a sigh of relief. At least she hadn't been forced to answer it; now _that_ would have been awkward. Readying the firearm, she stuck her head cautiously out of the bathroom and into the adjacent hallway.

It was absolutely quiet outside, save for the slight buzz of the flickering fluorescent lights.

She carefully tiptoed her way out into the hall, the stolen gun held up to her hip.

Jill wondered briefly if the rest of her teammates had managed to disable the second guard. She paused for a second, mentally picturing the team on their various training missions. Chris hanging tangled from one of the rope nets. Joseph out cold in the mud pit. Barry pinned underneath Joseph, scrambling for a grip. And Brad, nowhere to be seen.

"Unlikely," she sighed, tightening her grip on the weapon's handle.

She took two quick steps that brought her to a turn in the narrow corridor that led out to where she'd left the S.T.A.R.S earlier. Flattened carefully against the wall, she leaned just centimeters forward, craning her head so she could take a glimpse past the turn without revealing her posit—

"What. The. Hell." she sputtered, at a sudden loss for words.

The first thing that caught Jill's eyes was the candy. Snickers, M&M's, Baby Ruths, scattered across the floor as if someone had accidently opened a portal to Candy Land on the spot. Right in the middle of it lay Terrorist #2. He didn't look like he was getting up any time soon, his expression mirroring his partner's back in the restroom.

On one side of the hall, the vending machine was tipped over on its side and completely empty. _Well, that explains the candy_, said a reasonable voice in the back of Jill's head.

The second thing she noticed was the rest of S.T.A.R.S.. Barry was crouched next to the fallen terrorist, checking the big brute's pulse. Joseph was sitting tiredly on the broken vending machine, as if just having finished some horrendously strenuous activity. The rest of the team was still tied up at the far side of the wall, where Chris was working on cutting them loose with a knife.

"Hurry it up, Chris," Forest was grumbling. "I swear, another second of limited blood flow's gonna lead to some permanent damage in these delicate fingers. You don't want to lose your best sniper, do you?"

"Aw, shaddup Forest," Joseph groaned from the other side of the hall. "At least you don't have a concussion from being tackled by that barbarian over there. The guy was like a tank on legs."

Rebecca was staring absent-mindedly off into the distance. "I…I…just can't believe the plan worked. Wow. Someone pinch me."

"I would, but Redfield is taking forever with these stupid ties," quipped the marksman beside her.

"Okay. Someone fill me in. What the hell just happened here?" Jill stepped out of her hiding place, arms akimbo and submachine gun hanging off of her shoulder. Her initial baffled reaction had morphed into one of annoyed disgruntlement. She had expected the worse, perhaps the S.T.A.R.S. being dragged off for execution, and what did she find? The whole lot of them lounging around among a mess of candy bars.

Friggin' candy bars.

"Jill!" Chris cried out with all the enthusiasm of a cast away spotting a rescue ship. He dropped his knife and it fell a few millimeters short of slicing off one of Forest's fingers. Leaping to his feet in world record time, he half ran, half skipped over to his female teammate. No doubt the theme song of Titanic was running through his head as he moved, arms outstretched, happy tears oozing out of his eyes…

Jill tripped him with an expertly timed foot sweep before his fingers could even brush her combat vest. There was a nasty crunch as he landed.

"I'm not going to repeat myself again. Could someone _please_ tell me what the hell just happened here?"

"It's kinda hard to explain," Joseph sighed.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Forest added, wriggling in his plastic cuffs. "Ungggh," said the pile of Chris at her feet.

"Actually, it was a bit like luring in a fish," Rebecca said cheerfully. "A six foot tall, 240 pound fish."

"Uh….right," Jill said, arching one eyebrow.

"We could probably go into more detail back at the precinct," Barry said, practical as usual. "But for now, we've got to finish our job here. How'd things go on your end?"

"Putrid, literally," she answered, stepping over Chris' groaning form and heading over to the pile of their stripped equipment. "What I did find out is that the civilian hostages are being kept at the back of the furniture store."

She picked up her shoulder holster and slipped it on, snapping a clip into her trusty Beretta. "That's probably where we should be heading next."

"No way," Forest groaned from his spot, while his untied teammates bee-lined to their equipment and began stocking themselves up. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not suicidal. These terrorists are friggin' crazy and ready to kill. We should be running away from them, not towards them— at least not without twenty heavily-armed platoons of professional commandoes in front of us."

"Have you ever tried bonding with Brad, Forest?" Jill said in a sarcastically upbeat tone. "I'm sure the two of you could spend a splendid afternoon inventing some diseases previously unknown to mankind."

"Hey, I'm just being reasonable here. It just isn't practical for us to go against these guys. They're trained killers."

"And we're trained cops," Rebecca said. She picked up her first-aid kit and making a big show of strapping it around her waist, while her teammates clipped fragmentation grenades onto their heavy duty belts, checked their semi-automatic pistols, and loaded their assault rifles with new magazines. "We're the special forces team of Raccoon City, remember? We've been trained to do this!"

"Well, I don't know about that," Jill muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"It doesn't matter. Those hostages are counting on us to save them, and that's what we've got to do," Barry concluded.

"Well that's all fine and dandy, but I'd bet twenty bucks that we're all just going to get our collective asses kicked," Forest grumbled. "_And_ someone needs to untie me."

"I'll go revive Chris!" Rebecca chirped, skipping off to moaning form on the ground.

* * *

Wesker the cat sat patiently on top of a monitor as he watched his human companion shuffle under and around the control panels that were linked to the mall's security cameras. Human Wesker flicked a few switches, and when there was no response on the screen, he cursed under his breath and disappeared once more beneath the curved metal desk.

"There's got to be some type of auxiliary power to this thing…" he said, his voice muffled underneath the stacks of computer screens. A few crashing, tinkling noises echoed from below. A blond head popped out from beside one of the office chairs. The cat cocked his head curiously as Wesker crawled out from beneath the table on his hands and knees.

"If this doesn't do it, I don't know what will," he growled, standing up and dusting off his cargo pants.

The animal made a huffing noise, and bounded lightly off the tower of monitors and onto the table in front of the human.

"Hey, don't look at me like that," Wesker said, fiddling with a few knobs. "I'm a scientist, first and foremost. Though I can't blame you for not knowing that." He cast a sideways glance at the black cat, who sneezed in return.

The police captain reached over to the control panel and clicked a large red switch. There was a surprised hiss from the cat as several monitors burst into light and flooded the dark room with artificial illumination.

"I told you so," Wesker said with a smirk. He placed both hands on the desk and leaned in to examine the screens. Black and white static-ridden pictures reflected off his dark lenses.

"The S.T.A.R.S.," he muttered to himself as he focused on one camera near the top left. In between the lines of static, the group could be seen digging through a pile of equipment and arming themselves to the teeth.

"So those idiots are still alive," he said out loud. He gave a little sigh of relief, though it was less for the wellbeing of his team and more for the knowledge that all the energy he had spent organizing S.T.A.R.S. hadn't ended up with a couple of coffins and a mountain-load of paperwork.

A flickering monitor to his right drew Wesker's attention. It was an overhead view of the furniture store entrance, and revealed several terrorists hurrying into the double glass doors. One mercenary was kneeling beside the door, rigging it up with some type of explosive device that he couldn't identify through the low resolution camera.

"Looks like they're making a final stand there," Wesker said to himself. "I'm willing to bet that Alpha team is headed that way too….but how do I find a way up to join them? Perhaps the escalators—"

"I hate to be the harbinger of bad news, Albert Wesker, but the escalators are out of the question."

Wesker hand snapped automatically to his firearm, his fingers briefly scraping the grip. But before he had a chance to yank the weapon out, there was a deafening bang and shatter that caused him to instinctively cringe down. Flattened against the control panel, he looked to his right to see a gaping bullet hole in of the monitors, the glass cracks creeping out from the void like an intricate spider web. A tendril of smoke from the broken machinery crept lazily up to the plaster ceiling.

"Put your hands up and turn around," the voice said from behind him, as smooth as roll of authentic silk. But Wesker caught a hint of nervous excitement quivering behind the words. Compliant, the blond let go of his own gun and held his hands up in the air, fingers spread. He turned around as calmly as he could, doing his best to give off an air of nonchalant disinterest.

"Ah, how I've wanted to see that face of yours," Ritchie Stewart spat, his voice trembling with raw energy. He had a smile on his face so wide that it could only be described as deranged. His once flawless white suit had darkened under the arms and around the neck from perspiration. The Desert Eagle in his hands was pointed menacingly at the blond.

"You're the Umbrella guy from earlier," Wesker said, as energetically as a bored news anchor.

"The name's Ritchie. Ritchie Stewart."

"And I'm guessing, by the state of things, you aren't exactly working for Umbrella anymore, are you?"

Ritchie let out an insane little giggle that sent shivers up Wesker's spine. And that was saying a lot considering Wesker had barely batted an eyelash at the sight of a decaying mass of sentient eyeballs (another one of William's failed experiments.)

Wesker's attention was diverted back to the gun in front of him, which was shaking ever so slightly in the Ritchie's trembling grip. The man seemed to be filled with some type of jumpy excitement, as if had just gotten off a rollercoaster ride with a man-eating tiger.

"You mean the release of the virus? It's all just a part of my little revenge against 'Lord' Spencer."

"All this, just to pick a bone with that old fool?" Wesker said, smirking.

"I wanted to see the look on Spencer's face when he felt the same failure I did."

"The only person you need to see is a psychiatrist."

"I fear you're forgetting whose holding the gun here, Captain Wesker." Ritchie took a step forward his finger twitching on the trigger.

"Point taken," Wesker replied, lifting his hands even higher up in a complacent gesture of surrender. Behind his unconcerned countenance, however, the S.T.A.R.S. captain's mind was racing. This was a bad. The Umbrella traitor was obviously mentally unstable, and as a result, there was no predicting when he might pull the trigger. But his shaky temperament was also a double edged sword; perhaps he could be tricked into making a careless decision that could lead to escape.

_But how?_ the blond thought to himself. _Think Albert. Think._

He needed to buy himself some time.

"I don't get it, Ritchie. You obviously have some bad blood with Spencer. But why me? What do I have to do with any of this?"

Another chuckle, this time a dry, throaty one.

"Spencer thinks that you're some type of damn hero that can rectify our little mall situation here_._"

"A hero?" Wesker said acerbically. "I don't think anyonein this company could come close to being described as a 'hero.'"

"You're a hero to Spencer," Ritchie continued, completely glazing over his comment. "And that's why I'm here to kill you. Sorry about that." He flashed a smile with all teeth and no warmth.

"So in other words, you're jealous."

"Don't test my patience," the man hissed, shaking the gun for emphasis. His expression flashed from amused to ferocious, like a maniac depressive on steroids.

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?"

"Oh that'd be so boring wouldn't it? I'm sure you know Umbrella's love for a bit of flair. I'm really no different."

"Oh?" Wesker said, raising an eyebrow.

"There are after all, more _creative _ways to kill someone you hate, isn't there?"

Behind his sunglasses, the S.T.A.R.S. wasn't actually looking at the person speaking to him. His eyes were, instead, fixed on the doorway behind Ritchie, straining to see past the empty expanse of darkness.

He'd heard something echo from the blackness.

It was a soft, repetitive noise. Short, quick puffs of air, as if someone was starting a lawnmower in a soundproof room.

"I said, get on your knees!"

Ritchie's voice snapped him to the present. The darkness of the hallway was abruptly replaced with the blackness of a gun barrel.

"Now just wait-"

"Get on your fucking knees, Captain." He said the title with a cold sneer.

Wesker knew better than to argue with the man brandishing a loaded firearm, and he carefully went down onto the ground, all the while keeping his hands in the air. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Wesker the cat, hiding between a file cabinet and a trash can. The animal was stock still and staring directly at the entrance way, its ears perked.

Suddenly it began to bristle, hissing quietly and pulling back its lips to reveal a set of sharp, feline teeth. That was all Wesker needed to see; his suspicions to the source of the noise were confirmed.

"Listen, Ritchie. You're not going to get away with this," Wesker said slowly, still kneeling.

Ritchie laughed madly, a bead of sweat slipping down his chin. His face was as white as a sheet and his eyes were rimmed with a sickly shade of red.

"Oh is that right, Captain Wesker? What are you going to do? Yell 'Yippie-ki-yay motherfucker' and then throw me out a window? Sorry to burst your bubble, but we're on the ground floor, Albert." The side of his mouth twisted up in a condescending smile.

"Doesn't stop me from doing the first part."

Ritchie crinkled his eyebrows, confused for a second. But his expression quickly turned into one of bemusement.

"What are you babbling on about? Has the prospect of failure addled your mind a bit, Captain? You're about to die here! "

The padding noises were getting louder.

"I'm sorry Ritchie, but I'm afraid you might not get the chance to see that psychiatrist I mentioned earlier," Wesker said snidely. Ritchie was standing directly in front of the doorway, facing inwards. His forehead shone with sweat under the eerie green light of the security monitors, and a nerve could be seen twitching angrily beneath the skin.

"Stop it," he snapped, jabbing the Desert Eagle at his victim. "Stop smiling, you bastard or I swear I'll send a bullet straight into your fucking mouth."

Wesker chuckled, a chilly laugh that seemed to drop the air temperature a few degrees.

"Stop it!" Ritchie yelled. His voice was coming close to a desperate whine. "Wipe that fucking smile off your face, damn it!" His grip tightened on the firearm, his head tilted slightly away in preparation to pull the trigger…

A snarl exploded from directly behind him. It was deep and resonating, like a heavy fabric curtain ripping in two.

"Yipee-ki-yay, motherfucker," Wesker hissed, leaping to action at the sound. Before Ritchie had the time to mouth 'What?' the S.T.A.R.S. captain had thrown himself diagonally out of the gun's line of sight, just as a dark blur crashed into the Umbrella operative from behind.

The blow knocked him face-forward onto the ground, and his Desert Eagle went off, instantly enveloping the room with a deafening explosion. For a second, all Wesker could see was a mix of black and white, likely a badly painted Yin-Yang symbol, in the center of the room. But the black form had been going too fast for its intended target and sailed right on past Ritchie, skidding on the floor and landing in a heap at the exact spot Wesker had been kneeling at earlier.

The source of the padding noise was illuminated under the monitor lights: a Doberman. But it was unlike any normal canine you'd see on the side of the street. There was flesh peeling off its body, particularly on the head, where half its face simply hung off the bones. One white eye glowed in the mesh of pink flesh, and veins pulsed between its exposed tendons. It growled again, so heavy and menacing that the floor seemed to vibrate beneath their feet.

Wesker could see the muscles rippling beneath its rotting flesh, and he knew another pounce was due to come. No time to stick around. He lunged forward, leaping over Ritchie prone body and scrambling on all four limbs toward the doorway.

Something caught onto his boot, and he flat on the floor, hands and knees flailing uselessly on the smooth, gray tiles.

Panicking, Wesker craned his neck back to see Ritchie's pale hands wrapped around his ankle. The man's grip was like an iron pincer, and the blond could see that the burning desperation behind his crazed eyes was fueling his inhuman strength.

Wesker kicked hard, aiming for Ritchie's face and his mess of dark hair. It connected at the forehead with a dull thunk. But the man's fingers were like a vise, tightening to the point the leather in his boots creaked beneath the pressure.

"Dammit!" the captain swore, frantically pumping his leg like a piston in an attempt to break free. There wasn't any time. Straight ahead he could see the Cerberus already half crouched, pawing the ground like a rabid horse.

A dart of black shot out from one side of the room, smaller than the Doberman but much more graceful and agile.

Wesker the cat ran up to Ritchie, bounded over his forearm, and landed right beside the man's face. He didn't scratch, didn't hiss. He just stood there, yellow orbs gazing into the human's delirious eyes, tail flicking back and forth like a wind-up metronome.

"The hell?" Ritchie spluttered, still holding onto Wesker's boot. "What is that? Is that a cat? I'm allerg—ah…ah…."

And then he sneezed.

Wesker timed his kick perfectly, slamming the heel of his boot straight into Ritchie's nose the moment the 'choo!' hit his eardrums. There was a cringe-worthy crunch, and he felt the fingers fall away from his ankle.

The blond didn't wait to see what would happen. He was on his feet in an instance and hurtling out the doorway and into hall, the cat springing along at his heels. He hit the wall opposing the door at full speed, stumbling for a moment as he regained his balance. An ear-splitting scream suddenly rang out from the security room, accompanied with feral snarls and sickening, tearing noises. The screeching continued, but was already beginning to bubble away into a wet gurgle. _Farewell Ritchie_, was all Wesker had time to think, before he swung his body to the right and sprinted down the hall.

He had only made it a few yards down when a silhouette of a second Cerberus appeared at the end of the hallway. It growled, the sound resonating like rumbling thunder.

Wesker tried to skid to a stop, but his speed was still carrying him forward, straight towards the B.O.W. To make things worse, his attempts had caused his feet to lose its grip on the polished floor and now he was skimming down the hall like a hot bather on a slip-n-slide.

The Doberman snapped its jaws, no doubt awaiting its meal to be launched straight into its mouth.

Wesker the cat flew past its human counterpart in a heroic dash, darting between the canine's legs and out into the expanse beyond the corridor. The dog, despite its inhuman nature, was unable to contain its primitive doggy instincts, and immediately gave chase to the smaller creature.

And then the two animals were gone, leaving the blond struggling to stand in the deserted hallway. He could hear ferocious barks from outside and then realization hit him. The damn cat had saved him once again.

Wesker knew the how fast the Cerberus could be, having worked on the B.O.W. in his earlier days. Wesker the cat wouldn't be able to outrun the undead Doberman forever. It had sacrificed its life for its namesake.

_Not if I can do something about it._

Searing hot anger flashed through Wesker's mind, and before he knew it, he'd drawn his Glock and dashed out of the hallway and into the main body of the mall. It wasn't hard to spot the dog and the cat, two blurs of black, one large, one small, streaking under benches and over fallen trashcans. Some reasonable part of his mind raised an eyebrow at the irony. Here he was, running towards the same creature he had previously been so keen to escape from. Had he gone mad?

The cat must have spotted him, because it stopped zigzagging and looped back towards the human. The Cerberus was fast on its heels, pelting toward the cat and the human in a straight line.

Wesker spread his legs slightly, taking a solid stance, before aiming his gun at the oncoming bulk of rotting flesh. One, slow exhalation. A narrowed eye. The dog's teeth were showing, dribbles of saliva and blood dangling of the tapered edges. Its tongue lolled outward, a dark, black mass of rancid meat. He braced for the recoil…

…and fired. There was a yelp and the canine fell over, tumbling head over heels and landing in a heap at the S.T.A.R.S. captain's feet. Wesker the cat poked a furry dark head out from behind the human's boot.

Wesker relaxed, lowering his gun. The shot had been perfect, straight into the head. The B.O.W. wasn't getting up again.

The cat cautiously crept out from its hiding place and circled the inanimate creature. Satisfied that the predator was gone for good, it chuffed at the body, and looked up proudly at its human companion.

Wesker, for once in his life, felt the urge to smile back. (And not smirk or sneer, mind you. This was a genuine smile, a rare sight to spot on the ex-Umbrella researcher's face.)

His face sobered up immediately, however, when he heard gunshots ringing out from above him.

"The S.T.A.R.S. must be engaging the rest of the terrorists," Wesker said to the cat, his grip tightening on the firearm. "I need to find a way up to the second floor, ASAP."

_Ritchie had to have gotten down somehow,_ Wesker thought to himself. _What did he use? The escalator? Impossible, he said himself it was blocked. Then there's only one other way up…_

"The elevator," he said eyes locking on the metal doors further down the mall. "The guards have probably left their positions to hold the furniture store. It's probably safe to go up that way."

The cat, flicked its tail once, and began to strut over to the elevators embedded in the far side wall. Wesker sighed once, before leveling his Glock and following the animal.

* * *

Author's Note:

I had a sudden urge to finish this story, whose ending I cannot wait to write. I think one long chapter should do it, or perhaps two more short ones. We'll see.

Once again, thanks for the reviews! They honestly, honestly, mean so much to me. :D


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